I Miss You, Too
by Brii Taylor
Summary: A serial killer whose victims look extraordinarily like Stella brings her and Mac together after he chases a victim across the country from the Big Easy to the Big Apple.
1. Chapter 1

Ch. 1

It was a beautiful Louisiana night. Strains of lilting jazz music floated on the air, the tail end of a complicated saxophone solo twisting before settling down into a smooth, soulful melody. The faint smell of the sea was tainted by inorganic stink of the oil from the BP gulf spill. Standing on the street corner under a burnt out street light, Detective Stella Bonasera sighed and ran her fingers through her curly hair. She had just gotten off of work, a 12-hour shift that somehow turned into a graveyard at the New Orleans Crime Lab. She loved her job, but being the head of a lab in New Orleans was more work than her old job in New York had been.

New Orleans had been a beautiful town before Katrina, but the storm had brought to light the extreme poverty of the underbelly of the city and equalized the social status citywide. There were still parts of the town missing, washed out to sea in the storm's fury, even after almost a decade. Everything was dirty, and floodwater residue contaminated any evidence that came into the lab. Shaking her head, Stella sighed again and turned toward her apartment. It was funny –even after living there for a little over two years, she still had trouble calling the small one bedroom apartment home. She knew she was being ridiculous, but she still felt like she was just visiting.

Stella missed New York. She missed the ever-moving pulse of the city, the crazy cab drivers that made driving a hazard to her health, the masses of people, the many different languages and dialects that had always surrounded her like an old, comfortable sweater, even the homeless people (although, if she thought about it, there was no shortage of homeless people here; she just preferred the New York homeless). Her heart gave a little tug when she thought of her old condo and another when she was reminded of her old lab. She missed all of them; Lindsay, Danny, Flack, Adam, Sid, Sheldon, Mac… her heart gave another tug when she thought of Mac, but she shook it off, along with the other pangs of homesickness. She left the city for a reason, and she didn't need to be caught up in all this silly sentimental stuff. She quickened her pace, trying to clear her head. She hadn't wanted to spend this much time with her thoughts, but the walk home from the lab forced it, especially when her iPod was dead.

She hurried to her apartment and let herself in, now lost in her mind. She opened her mailbox and a pale blue envelope fell out. She sighed impatiently, picked it up, and immediately threw it away. She knew what the envelope had in it; another letter from her ex, trying to explain how he made a mistake and how he deserved a second chance. She didn't care and she didn't want him back. He needed to understand that nearly getting her fired and doing the things that he'd done was not something that a letter could solve. She sat down on her couch, sorting through the rest of her mail, her mind 1,306 miles away. She checked her watch. It was almost 6 am. That meant it was nearly seven in New York. Her heart gave a little tug again, and she sighed. Thank god she had a day off. She ate a small plate of leftover takeout from the night before, showered, and collapsed into bed, exhausted and slightly homesick. Within minutes, she fell into an uneasy sleep interwoven with scenes of New York and her friends from the lab. But before she fell asleep, she remembered something that made her groan.

It was her birthday.

1,306 miles away, in New York City, Detective Mac Taylor was awoken by his cell phone buzzing near his ear. He grabbed it and answered it, fighting back a yawn.

"Taylor," he said into the phone, sitting up.

"Hey, Mac, we got a DOA in Central Park, looks like murder," a familiar voice greeted him.

"All right. I'm on my way," he said. He hung up as a woman snuggled up to him.

"What happened?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Body in Central Park. I got it, Jo."

"You sure?" Jo asked.

"Yeah, I got it. Take a day. You need it," he said, chuckling. "You've been working a lot lately. I'll cover for you."

"You sure? I'd hate to leave you guys in a lurch," Jo drawled, and Mac smiled.

"We'll take care of it," Mac reassured her. He got out of bed, yawning again, and started to get ready. Jo watched him sleepily. Mac shook his head.

"Go back to sleep," he said. She nodded and lay back down.

"Goodbye," she said in a half yawn. Mac grunted and headed out the door.

When he got to the crime scene, things were already in full swing. Detective Don Flack walked over to him where he stood.

"Hey," Flack said. Mac nodded in his direction, taking a sip of the coffee he had grabbed on the way to the crime scene.

"What've we got?" he asked, gesturing to the dead body on the ground around fifteen feet away.

"Female DOA, no ID as of yet, found by a jogger about an hour ago. Says he was jogging along when she stumbled out of the bushes covered in blood and grabbed on to him. Gave him quite a shock, apparently," Flack said with a smirk. "He's being treated by the paramedics now. Passed out after calling 911." The corners of Mac's mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, but Flack didn't get a chance to see because he then turned around and walked over to the body.

It wasn't a pretty sight. The woman had brown, curly hair and when alive, Mac supposed, had been very beautiful. She had a long, slender nose, defined cheekbones, and had an air of elegance about her even in death. Her vacant eyes were the color of the ocean. A knife was sticking out of her stomach, and she was covered in blood. She was lying in a small pool of blood, and her face was contorted into an expression of pain. Her clothes were smeared with dirt, and there were leaves and sticks in her hair. All of the exposed skin was covered in scratches. Mac pointed at several deeper cuts on her forearms.

"Defensive wounds," he noted, writing something down in his notebook. A young, good-looking African-American man kneeling down next to the body nodded. The sun reflected off of his badge, illuminating his volunteer Central Park Medical Unit nametag: Dr. Sheldon Hawkes, M.D.

"Looks like it," he agreed. "Also, note the bruising on her forearms and on her face." Mac looked a bit closer at her face. Sure enough, bruises were forming around her eyes. He also noticed a bruise forming on her left cheekbone.

"She got beat up pretty badly," he said. "Hey, Hawkes, did you notice anything else?" Dr. Hawkes nodded. Carefully, he moved her head so that her neck was exposed. On her neck was a reddish-blue spot.

"Hickey," Mac said with a smile.

"Yep," Hawkes said. "And it looks fresh, too."

"Think we can get DNA off of it?" Mac asked him. Hawkes shook his head.

"I don't know," he said. "We can certainly try, but maybe not."

"Try it," Mac said. "Whoever gave her that hickey might be connected." Hawkes nodded, and Mac started to process the scene. He looked around.

"Hey, Sheldon," Mac said again. "Where are Danny and Lindsay?"

"Danny is late; he had to drop Lucy off at day care, and he's running behind. And Lindsay's at a doctor's appointment. She's coming in later."

"Right," Mac said. He looked around again. "And where are Adam and Stella?"

Hawkes gave him a weird look. "Adam told you yesterday that he was going to be late today. Something about his forensics conference running behind. And Stella moved, Mac. Almost three years ago."

"I know." Mac sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I asked you that."

Hawkes smiled. "I know. I miss her too." Mac said nothing, but the doctor noticed that something that looked like pain had spasmed across Mac's face. "Hey Mac, you okay?"

"Hmm?" Mac said, looking up at him. "What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. I was just thinking. It's Stella's birthday today."

"Really?" Hawkes said. Mac nodded.

"I was going to call her later," Mac confessed. "I figured that she might not want to be woken up at six."

"Why don't you just Facebook her?" Hawkes asked.

"What?" Mac said, confused. Hawkes made a face.

"You don't have a Facebook, do you? Right. Uh, never mind. So I'm thinking that this isn't our primary crime scene. There's a trail indicating she came from off the beaten path," Hawkes said quickly to cover the awkward moment. Mac nodded in agreement.

"I'll ask Flack to set up a search perimeter," he said as he walked towards the bushes. He examined where the jogger had said the woman had come out. There were several broken branches, and a blood trail dripped haphazardly away from the shrub and to the body. Snapping several pictures of the trail and the beaten bush, he carefully stepped into the hole, following the blood drops. A few feet in, he noticed a piece of folded-up cardstock on the ground. After photographing it, he picked it up and opened it. A small picture fell out. He picked it up, and to his surprise, Stella was staring back at him. She was smiling and waving at the camera, and some guy had his arm around her waist. Mac blinked several times. Stella… was seeing someone? There was something not right about that.

"Hey, Hawkes," Mac called over his shoulder. "Come here a sec."

Hawkes shouldered his way through the bushes. "Yeah?"

"Come see this," Mac said. He showed him the photograph. Hawkes looked at it for a second.

"Wait, is that Stella?" Hawkes asked.

"Looks like it," Mac said dryly. Hawkes looked at Mac. There it was again—something like pain spasming across Mac's face. Feeling suddenly like he was intruding on something private, Hawkes looked back down at the photo.

"Who's the guy?" he asked Mac. Mac shook his head, a weird, stony look on his face.

"I don't know."

"Maybe you should call her today," Hawkes said. Mac nodded, then looked at his watch and shook his head.

"I'll wait until around ten her time. That's a more decent time."

Hawkes nodded his head in agreement. "What was the other thing?"

"What? Oh, uh, I don't know." Mac unfolded the cardstock.

"It's a postcard," he said. A faded picture of some New Orleans street corner, pre-Katrina, was on the back. He flipped it over.

"I can't read any of that," Hawkes said, disappointed. Mac smiled and put it into an evidence bag.

"We can figure it out at the lab," Mac said. Hawkes nodded, and then stopped.

"Hold on, I think I can read a little bit of that. Let me see." Mac shrugged and handed him the envelope. The doctor held up the postcard, tilting it back and forth.

"Can you get a name off it?" Mac asked. Hawkes shook his head.

"No, it's too degraded. I'll have to wait until after I get it back to the lab." Mac nodded, and Hawkes thought he saw disappointment in Mac's eyes. It was gone in a moment, though, so he figured he had just imagined it. He put the postcard back in the evidence bag and went back to processing the area around the body. Mac turned away from where he found the postcard, continuing to search for the path that their vic had taken, but his mind was elsewhere.

So Stella was seeing someone. Mac didn't have any issues with it; in fact, he was happy for her. He hadn't expected her to stay single forever, although the fact that she'd had to kill her last boyfriend had certainly slowed her desire to date. Mac figured that after she moved to New Orleans, she'd decided to get back into dating. It didn't bother him. He'd moved on after Claire died and Peyton moved back to England. Still, something bothered him with the way Stella had her arms around that guy. It was so… intimate.

Mac shook his head and focused on his work. After a few hours, he'd collected enough evidence to send back to the lab, and Hawkes had found primary crime scene, about fifty yards away in a little clearing slightly off the beaten path. Mac had been following the blood trail—which he had to admit was sketchy at best—when he heard Hawkes yell his name.

"Hey, Mac!" Hawkes called triumphantly. "I found what looks like our primary crime scene." Mac backed carefully out of the bushes and looked around.

"I don't see you, Hawkes. Where are you?" Mac called. Off the path, Hawkes answered.

"I'm over here. See that small hole in the bushes next to the path? Move the branches to the side and follow the path."

Mac did what he said and discovered a thin trail leading away from the path.

"I still can't see you," Mac said.

"Keep walking," Hawkes instructed. Mac followed the trail and after about a minute found himself in a small clearing with a grinning Hawkes.

"Come look at this, Mac," he said, snapping several pictures. Mac moved over to where Hawkes was standing, knelt down and studied the ground.

"Leaves and ground cover looks disturbed," Mac observed. "it looks like she was chased around this clearing."

"yup," Hawkes agreed. "I found blood droplets, too. and look at these," he said pointing toward a few very large footprints. "those are too big to belong to our vic."

Mac nodded and bent down to photograph the footprints. As he straightened up, he noticed something on the edge of the clearing. He walked over and took a closer look. It was a cell phone, or at least, what remained of one. the screen was cracked and stained with something. Three of the buttons were missing, as well as a large chunk of the casing. Mac surveyed the damaged phone.

"Whoa," someone behind him said. Mac turned around.

"Adam," he said, "just the person I wanted to see." Adam looked up at him, surprised.

"M-me?" Adam stammered. Mac nodded and handed him the cell phone.

"I need you to get this back to the lab and start working on it. See if you can get anything off it." As he handed the phone to Adam, he happened to look at his watch. It was almost eleven, nearly time to call Stella. Mac looked around. "Danny!" he finally called.

"Yeah, boss," Danny said, coming from behind him. Mac turned around.

"Danny, I need you to oversee things here for now. I need to go back to the lab and make a few phone calls. Can you make sure that all the evidence makes it back to the lab?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem," Danny said. he surveyed the scene quickly. "I got it, Mac," he said calmly. Mac nodded and left the crime scene. He needed to make that phone call, and soon. Abruptly, he remembered Stella and her boyfriend from the picture. He wrinkled his brow, concerned. How different was Stella going to be? He shrugged it off, forcing himself to notice every detail on the drive back to the lab to take his mind off Stella. The drive took less time than he'd expected, and he barely remembered getting on the elevator and the walk to his office. He sat down at his desk and sighed. He didn't want to be the bearer of bad news to Stella. His brow furrowed, he stared off into space, idly thinking of the things he had tell her. Presently, he noticed that he was tapping his foot anxiously against the floor and that his throat was dry. He was showing all the symptoms of being nervous, he realized. The idea was laughable; Mac wasn't a very nervous person. He snorted quietly to himself. He was being ridiculous. He dialed Stella's number off the top of his head and hesitated only a moment before hitting the call button. It rang four times, and with every ring Mac's heart beat a bit faster. He was just about to hang up when –

"Bonasera."


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2

Stella was walking down the streets of New York City, carrying her kit. It was just like any other day. Mac was at her side, as usual. They smiled and talked; or at least, Stella did. Mac wasn't saying anything. Suddenly, Stella realized that she wasn't saying anything, either. Her mouth was moving, but no sound came out. Mac's mouth was moving, too, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. Stella tried talking louder, but she never made a sound. Abruptly, she and Mac came to a complete stop, and for the first time, she realized they were holding hands. Mac turned to face her. Was he going to kiss her? Somehow, Stella was sure he would. Mac looked her in the eye, and she saw his mouth move. Frantically, she tried to tell what he was saying, but before she could decipher anything, she felt his hand go limp in hers. Confused, she looked down and screamed. She was no longer holding Mac's warm hand but a cold, shrunken, clammy, pale hand. She looked back up at Mac's face, but the warmth and life was gone from his face, too, and he had become the corpse version of her ex-boyfriend, lying on the cold autopsy table…

Stella's scream mingled with the phone ringing as she sat bolt upright in bed, breathing very hard. For a few wild seconds Stella remained where she was, but then her phone ringing broke her from her trance. She lay back down and grabbed her phone from her bedside table.

"Bonasera," she said, trying to sound as professional as possible.

"Hey there, stranger," a familiar voice greeted her, and she was filled with unexpected warmth.

"Mac! Hey!" she said, a little too excitedly. Almost immediately, she felt herself flush.

"Hi," Mac said. His voice was just like she'd remembered it: gravelly and comforting, with just a bit of his Chicago accent slipping through.

"How are you? I haven't talked with you in forever," Stella asked. Mac's sigh filtered over the line and trickled into her ear, making her smile.

"Oh, you know, the usual," Mac said off-handedly. "I've been keeping pretty busy."

Stella grinned even wider.

"So you've been working as much as you could and not sleeping until you had to, then?" she hinted playfully. Mac laughed.

"Oh, Stella, you know me too well," he said warmly. Stella chuckled.

"Well, I was your partner for a long time," she reminded him.

"Yeah," Mac said, sounding suddenly distracted. "you were." His voice had changed ever so slightly; he now sounded almost overly casual. Stella's cop instincts kicked in. Something wasn't right.

"How have you been?" Mac asked pleasantly. Stella narrowed her eyes, fixing Mac with a glare until she realized that he couldn't see her.

"Oh, you know," she echoed, "fighting crime, learning to like New Orleans style jazz, adjusting to life below sea level, learning to live without skyscrapers. It's been pretty tough, you have no idea."

Mac laughed, but it sounded forced. The hairs on the back of Stella's neck stood straight up. Something was definitely wrong.

"What happened?" Stella asked after a moment.

"What?" Mac asked innocently.

"You're acting all weird, and you called me at ten in the morning," Stella pointed out.

"oh," Mac said intelligently. "Well…. It's your birthday…." He trailed off just as he remembered that she didn't like discussing her birthday.

"Tell me you didn't wake me up to remind me that I'm getting older," Stella said apprehensively.

"oh, no," Mac said quickly. "it's just, we were at a crime scene today and –"

"Who are we?" Stella asked immediately. Mac told her, and then told her about everything else. Stella listened, growing more and more worried.

"We've got no id on her," Mac confessed when he'd finished. "Do you have any idea who she is?"

Stella wasn't sure. She had sent a few postcards to her friends, but from the description Mac gave her, she didn't know that woman.

"I don't think I know her," she said after a moment. Mac's sigh of disappointment filtered through the line. Stella could see him, sitting in his office, poring over his little notebook, reading off his notes to her and sighing in disappointment. Her heart gave another little tug. Damn, she missed him. The errant thought shocked her, and she shook her head briskly to dislodge it.

"Uh, Stella?" Mac asked hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"We, um, we –"Mac paused and cleared his throat. Stella smiled. She had never heard Mac sound so nervous, not even before he'd asked Claire out the first time.

"Just spit it out, Mac," she said, laughing. Mac cleared his throat again.

"We, um, found a photo at the crime scene with the postcard. The placement of it suggested that it had fallen out of the vic's pocket while she was running." Mac covered the mouthpiece of the phone and quickly took a deep breath. He didn't want to ask her this question, didn't even really need to, but for some reason he had to know.

"Yes, and?" Stella asked.

"And the picture was of you and an unidentified Caucasian male, approximately four inches taller than you, with deep auburn hair, green eyes, and lightly tanned skin." Now the hard part. Mac gritted his teeth and asked the next question. "Do you know anyone fitting this description and, if so, what is your relationship with him?" he hoped she didn't notice his slight hesitation before saying "relationship". To his surprise (and slight pleasure), Stella let out a frustrated groan.

"Yes, I do have the misfortune of knowing exactly who you're talking about." She sighed. Mac chuckled, suddenly relieved.

"That sounds promising," Mac said derisively. Stella laughed, but it was a tense, forced laugh.

"Yeah," she said shortly. She heaved a long, frustrated sigh. "The person you just described is my ex, Patrick Andries. He worked with me at the New Orleans Crime Lab up until a few months ago. I found him drunk off his ass and passed out inside my office. There was an inquiry, and needless to say, he got fired. Almost took me down with him, actually. I haven't talked to him since." Stella gritted her teeth at the memory. To her surprise, Mac laughed.

"Hey," Stella said indignantly. "Don't laugh."

"I'm sorry," Mac immediately apologized. "I'm just very glad… that you didn't get fired," he recovered quickly. Stella smiled as her heart tugged again.

"Yeah, me too," Stella said quietly. There was a beat of tender silence.

"I miss you," Stella said mournfully. "All of you. No one down here knows how to speak normally. It's driving me crazy."

Mac chuckled. "I miss you too. So does everyone else," he added. "Especially Adam. Whenever Jo comes around asking for information –"

"Joe?" Stella asked confusedly. "As in the Plumber?"

Mac laughed again; it was an easy sound. "No, Jo as in your replacement." Even with the laugh, the words that came out sounded bitter. They sliced into the conversation, souring the pleasant mood.

"I'm sorry," Mac said after a minute of awkward silence. "No one could ever replace you, Stella." _I mean it,_ he added silently. Stella seemed to catch his drift.

"Yeah, well, at least you all have each other," Stella said slightly bitterly. "I'm down here with a bunch of French Ozarks who are driving me crazy."

"Excuse me?" Mac chuckled. "Did you say French Ozarks? What's a French Ozark?"

"Well, since the French settled here in the 1700's, there are a lot of people here who are, essentially, French. But the only thing French about them is their name. They're like… those croissant rolls that people buy in grocery stores compared to actually handmade French croissant rolls. They're not the same. Not even close."

"Uh-huh," Mac said. "And why do you need to know the difference between a French person and a French Ozark?"

"Because," Stella said grimly. "They're not the same. A French Ozark will tell you he's French to try to impress you, and it works. You start dating him and then before you know it, you're hauling his drunk, naked ass out of your office in handcuffs and almost get fired because of him."

"Oh," Mac said, laughing again.

"Hey, it's only funny because it didn't happen to you," Stella pouted.

"This is probably true," Mac agreed, still laughing. As he laughed, he happened to look up in time to see Jo step off the elevator. She caught his eye and, seeing the grin on his face, smiled back in return and waved. Mac felt his face freeze. He kept his frozen grin on his face until Jo had turned the corner.

"Mac?" Stella asked uncertainly. When he'd seen Jo, he'd immediately stopped laughing and gone completely silent. "Are you still there?"

"Uh, yeah," Mac said distractedly. He didn't like the way he'd reacted when he'd seen Jo, but he pushed the feeling away.

"Um, Stella," he said slowly. He didn't want to hang up; he'd smiled and laughed more in the space of their phone call than he had in over two years. But… he had to… work. He needed to think about some things. He cleared his throat.

"Um, Stella, believe me when I say I don't want to end this phone call. It's been great talking to you and catching up, but I have a lot of work to do."

Stella sighed. She didn't want the phone call to end, either.

"Oh, that's okay, Mac," she said playfully. "I'll just go back to my life with the French Ozarks. They really aren't that bad, once you get past the inbreeding…"

"Ugh, Stella, don't even joke about something like that," Mac said crossly. He was tempted to stay on the line with her until she agreed to not mess with the natives, but the sight of Hawkes, looking distressed and headed straight at him, convinced him he needed to go.

"Uh-oh," Mac said. "Incoming Hawkes, and it looks important. I gotta go, Stella. It's been great talking with you, and… I miss you."

"I miss you, too," Stella murmured. "Goodbye, Mac."

"Goodbye, Stella." He thought he heard her voice break a little when she said his name, but he didn't say anything, just hung up the phone and quickly composed his face just in time for the young doctor to come bursting through the door.

"We got a problem."


	3. Chapter 3

"What, Hawkes? What is it?" Mac asked.

"Have you called Stella yet?" Hawkes asked, ignoring the question.

"I just got off the phone with her. Why? What's happened?"

"Well, when I got back to the lab, I started processing the postcard. I fumed it for prints. Now, most of them had been washed away by rain and such, but under the stamp I found a print. I ran it through AFIS and got a match."

"You did?"

"Prints came back to a Patrick Lafayette, also known as Patrick Andries."

"What?" Mac asked disbelievingly.

"Yeah, he changed his name at eighteen because he didn't know his father, wanted his mother's maiden name. She died in '08 of liver disease."

"Patrick Andries? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, but that's not our biggest concern. It was postmarked for a week ago."

"_What is the problem, Hawkes_?"

"Patrick Lafayette was murdered two months ago in Central Park. Same MO as our Jane Doe. I swabbed the knife, and I got back six different female blood samples. These blood samples gave me six case-to-case hits in the last three years."

"Hawkes, are you trying to tell me we've got a serial killer?"

"Uh, not just us. Three of those other six cases were in New Orleans."

"New Orleans?" Mac repeated.

"Yeah. They've got most of the information. I was going to call –"

"Mac!" Adam burst into the room, almost running and looking shaken. "I have something and it's really important and –oh, uh, hi, Hawkes," he finished abruptly.

"What do you have?" Mac asked Adam. Adam cleared his throat.

"So the writing on the postcard was too faded to read at the scene, right? So I dried it and looked at it under a UV light, to see if any of the ink fluoresced. It did. All if it. But it was faint, so I took a sample, right? And I noticed that the ink was a weird red color and so I swabbed it and it came back positive for blood."

"What? Who's?" Mac spat out.

"I ran the DNA, and it –it –it's –it's" Adam stuttered and began shaking.

"Adam! Calm down!" Mac grabbed Adam's arm and led him over to a chair. Adam took a deep, shaky breath.

"It's Stella's, Mac." Adam looked up at his boss as he took in the news. Mac's face went pale, and his expression became stony.

"Are you sure?" he asked in a dangerously quiet and barely controlled voice. Adam nodded shakily.

"I think she's dead, Mac," he whimpered. Then Adam's eyes grew wide and rolled back in his head as he passed out.

"Adam?" Mac asked. "Sheldon, I need you." Dr. Hawkes walked over and felt Adam's pulse, checked his breathing, and looked in his eyes.

"He might have just passed out from fear," Sheldon offered after declaring Adam okay. Mac nodded, his mind elsewhere. A postcard had been written to someone in Stella's blood.

How had that happened?

More importantly, why didn't Stella mention anything like that? Thinking quickly, he made up his mind and grabbed his cell phone.

"I'll be right back," he announced. "Keep Adam in my office, and shut the blinds. He doesn't need the embarrassment. And stay with him, Hawkes, you understand?" Hawkes nodded. Mac grabbed his jacket and left his office so fast he bumped into someone.

"Hey, watch it," he growled before he saw who it was. It was Jo.

"Hello to you too," she said cheerfully. She looked up at Mac's face and her smile faded.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Something happened with Stella. I'll explain everything later. I can't talk now, but we probably should talk soon," Mac said shortly. Jo simply nodded, and Mac stepped around her and continued to the elevator. When he got to the first floor, he called Stella again. This time she answered the phone on the third ring.

"Bonasera."

"Stella, its Mac. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what, Mac?" Stella sounded confused.

"Don't try to play innocent, dammit. Why didn't you tell me?" Mac demanded.

Stella got defensive. "I'm not playing innocent. I have no idea what you're talking about. What happened?"

"I don't know, you tell me," Mac snarled. "You wanna explain to me why the postcard we found with the picture was written in your blood?"

Stella was silent. "_What_?" she finally said.

"It was written in your blood, Stella," Mac repeated heatedly. "Adam processed the postcard. He thought you were dead. He passed out, he was so scared."

"Oh, my god," Stella gasped. "Is he going to be all right?"

"He's going to be fine. I'm more worried about you, and how they got your blood," Mac said. "Why didn't you tell me something like this had happened?"

"I don't know," Stella said honestly. "I mean, clearly, I'm not dead, but someone took my blood without my knowledge."

"How the hell did they do that?" Mac asked incredulously. Stella was silent for another full minute.

"I donated blood a few months ago," Stella said eventually. "They could have gotten it then."

"I'll look into it," Mac said. "Meanwhile, we have a serial killer. Both of us."

"What?"

"Yup," Mac said grimly. He explained the connection between the two cities.

"I worked those cases," Stella said disbelievingly. "We decided it was a serial killer, but we'd had nothing since then."

"That's because the serial killer, for whatever reason, moved to New York," Mac explained.

"Mac, I have to go back to New York. I need to give you everything I can on this. I'll ask the captain for permission. I have to go," she said hurriedly. After a quick goodbye, they hung up, but Mac didn't go back up to the lab. Instead, he took a walk. He had some thinking to do.

He turned the corner, heading towards Central Park. His thoughts surrounded him like dogs on the hunt, snapping and growling, ready to rip him to shreds. He tried to wave them away, but each time they returned, tearing more deeply into his head.

Stella was coming back to New York.

He missed Stella.

A serial killer killed in New Orleans, then picked up and moved to New York to continue killing.

Someone sent a victim a postcard written in blood

Someone took blood from Stella's donation to do it.

She didn't know they'd done it.

He'd felt guilty about laughing with Stella and then having to put on a façade with Jo.

He was in a relationship with Jo, and he didn't know what he thought about it anymore.

He didn't want Stella seeing other guys.

He was glad she wasn't.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He gritted his teeth. Since when had he ever been confused when it came to Stella? Stella was… well, she was Stella. She was dependable, solid, strong, someone who he could always count on. Stella was the constant in the equation when everything else was variables. Stella was anything but confusing. He sighed and decided to ignore it. He moved on to the next most worrying thing: a serial killer was in New York, killing in the exact same way as he had in New Orleans. Before he had a chance to contemplate that, however, his phone rang.

"Taylor," he answered irritably.

"Hey, is everything all right?" It was Stella. Mac sighed.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Mac lied unconvincingly.

"Mm-hmm," Stella said, not fooled. "Wanna talk about it?"

Mac groaned. "Not really. You talk to your chief?"

"Yeah," Stella said, accepting the subject change gracefully. "I'm flying out at 3:30. I'm going home to pack now. Just thought I'd call and let you know."

"Okay, great," Mac said. "Hurry, go home and pack." Stella laughed.

"Okay," Stella said. "My flight gets in at about ten your time. I gotta go now, okay?"

"Okay," Mac said. "Goodbye."

"Wait!"

"What, Stella?"

"I'm coming in from Terminal 6. Do you want to be there, or should I hail a cab?"

Mac answered without hesitation.

"I'll be there."

"Okay. I'll call you when I get in."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye, Mac." Stella hung up the phone and grinned.

_I'm going back to New York_, she thought excitedly. _I'm going home_.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** First, I'd like to thank all of you that have read and reviewed already! i appreciate the feedback! second, i'd like to acknoweledge that i don't own any characters you recognize, i.e., Mac, Stella, Hawkes, Jo, Adam, Danny, Flack, Lindsay, Sid, et cetera. However, I do claim the rights to any character you don't recognize. Especially Shuggah. Third, I want to apologize in advance if i insult any NOLA residents with inconsistencies, especially in the weather, accents, descriptions of food, and so on. i've been to New Orleans only once, and it was after Katrina and in the middle of June, so i just wrote it the way i remembered it (i'd appreciate any suggestions you have for me). Finally, i'd like to request that if you R&R, please don't hold back in the way of things i need to fix. be harsh, but if possible, be nice about it. i don't want a bunch of trolling reviews. Thanks!  
>Brii<p>

* * *

><p>Stella was ecstatic about going to New York. First, she called the cab company and requested a cab. Then, she went to her closet and pulled out her suitcase. She tossed it on the bed and grabbed the first five outfits she saw. After adding shoes and accessories to the mix, she practically ran to the bathroom to get her toiletries case, her blow dryer and hair product. She threw it on top of the clothes, then grabbed a few more personal items from her dresser. She neatly folded them in with the rest of her things and closed the suitcase. She put the suitcase in the living room. Then she hurried to her laptop, sitting on the coffee table, and packed it up in its bag. The laptop went next to the suitcase. Finally, she went through her mostly neat apartment, shutting off lights and picking up trash. In New Orleans, it was unwise to leave any trash in your apartment, because generally, you turned your air conditioning off, and it got hot and rotted fast. She finished her search for trash. At the last second, she remembered her fridge. She opened it up and went through all her food, throwing away anything a week or more old. It wasn't much, but Stella hated coming home to find half-rotted, moldy food in her fridge. She tied up the trash bag and put it next to the door. She washed her hands and grabbed her suitcase, her purse, and her laptop. She shut off the last of the lights, then went to her closet and grabbed her coat. She didn't need one in New Orleans, but she had a feeling she would in New York.<p>

She grabbed the trash bag waiting by the door and went to put it outside in the dumpster. She saw a cab pull up alongside her apartment. She waved to the cabbie to let him know she was there, then ran back into her apartment and grabbed her bags. The cabbie, a friendly local who called himself Shuggah, helped her load her stuff into the trunk. Then Stella went back to her apartment. She grabbed her purse and keys, and tucked her badge and gun into her suitcase. She shut and locked her door, double checking the bolt. After one last look at her apartment, she turned her back on it and smiled at Shuggah as she got in the cab.

"Wheah tuh, mah fine Miz Stey-la?" he drawled, tipping his hat at her. She grinned.

"Could you take me to the airport, please?" she asked him. He nodded.

"Well, Ah'd be happy to, ma'am. Wheah is it youse be goin'?" he asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"I've got to go to New York on business," she explained, not wanting to go into too much detail.

"New Yahrk! Youse un luckay lady, Miz Stey-la," Shuggah drawled.

"Yes I am," Stella agreed. "I haven't been to New York in forever." Shuggah smiled at her from his rear view mirror.

"Nah, waiht jist uh minute, Miz Stey-la," Shuggah said after a few minutes of silence. "Ain't yuh from New Yahrk 'riginaly?"

"That's right," Stella said proudly. "and I can't wait to go back."

Shuggah grinned. "An' Ah s'pose youse be missin' youse people purdy badly, huh?"

Stella nodded. "You're right, Shuggah. I do miss my people pretty badly."

"Well thayun, Miz Stey-la, Ah do hop' yuh un-joy youse trip, 'cuz we hayuv done reacht the ayerpoahrt," Shuggah announced. "That'll be seb'mteen dollahs, ma'am."

Stella smiled at Shuggah as she handed him a twenty. "Thanks, Shuggah. Keep the change." Shuggah returned her smile, and then helped her get her stuff out of the back of the cab. Then he tipped his cap and said "Have fun in New Yahrk, Miz Stey-la!" as he drove off. Stella smiled at his retreating cab, then looked picked up her bags and headed into the airport.

After going through security, Stella hurried to her gate. She made it with twenty minutes to spare, so she grabbed a bite to eat from one of the fast food places nearby. After that, she boarded the plane and settled down for her 3½ hour flight to Columbus. Within minutes, she fell asleep and dreamed of seeing Mac and all the rest of her "people", as Shuggah had called them. She woke up just in time for a slightly bumpy landing and the announcement that she had just five minutes to get to her next flight. Muttering to herself in Greek, she grabbed her stuff and ran to her next terminal, making it on the plane by a minute. She then settled down for another 3½ hour flight to LaGuardia. This time, she couldn't sleep, so she settled her nerves by reviewing the files she'd brought with her. The flight went by quickly; with things to do, she managed to keep her mind off of what was waiting for her when she touched down. After a surprisingly smooth landing, she grabbed her bags and headed out of the airport and into the city.

Stella couldn't help but beam when she first saw the city. The city at night was beautiful. She inhaled slowly, closing her eyes and smelling all the familiar smells of her city: car exhaust, engine oil, tobacco smoke, cigar smoke, fast food oil, so many different types of colognes and perfumes she lost count, and, underneath it all, the uniquely urban undertone of smog. She could hear the city, too: the many different languages and accents and dialects and tones that all came together to create the cacophony of eight million people, all of them talking at once. She grinned even wider. She was home.

"Stella!" The sound of Mac's voice, pure and unadulterated by a phone speaker or anything else, cut easily through the soothing babble. The sound of his voice was sweet music to her ears. She turned in the direction of the sound, searching frantically but trying to appear collected. When she finally saw him, leaning casually against his truck and waving sardonically ten yards away, her heart skipped a beat. She would have sprinted towards him if she'd been able to, but weighed down by her suitcase, laptop bag, and purse, the best she could handle was a quick stride. She closed the distance in seconds, all the while taking in his tall, solid frame; his muscular shoulders, hidden somewhat by his coat; his powerful arms folded across his barreled chest; and his face.

Damn, his face was a welcoming sight to Stella's eyes. She studied it hungrily, memorizing every inch of his face, from his tired but warm brown eyes to his strong, powerful jaw line, even more defined by his rarely seen smile. At the same time, Mac was taking her in: her strong and athletic but still slender, womanly frame topped by beautifully bouncing russet curls cascading over her shoulders. Mac barely had enough time to glimpse her beautifully familiar face before she finally abandoned her bags three feet from him, screaming "Mac!" and running into his arms. He immediately threw his arms around her in a bone-crushing hug, holding her close to him. He buried his face in her hair, enjoying its smell and marveling at its softness. Meanwhile, Stella was squeezing him as tightly as she could, subtly feeling his muscled back underneath her fingers and listening to his heart beating solidly in her ear. She buried her head in his chest, smelling his earthy, tangy scent. They held each other close, making the most of their embrace. Finally, they broke apart. Mac sighed contentedly, holding her out at arm's length to fully take her in, but keeping his arms around her all the same, unwilling to break contact.

"Stella," Mac said again. "How've you been?" He searched her familiar face while he said this, his eyes finally coming to rest on her beautiful, sparkling eyes that reminded him of the ocean. The vision of her wide smile almost took his breath away. She was glowing with pleasure, and her eyes were bright with excitement.

"I missed you." The words were out of her mouth before Stella could stop them. Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

"Oops," she muttered embarrassedly as her face flushed. "I didn't mean to say that straight off." she bit her lip, and Mac laughed.

"That's just fine, Stella," he said, wrapping his arms around her again. "I missed you too," he whispered in her ear. A bit of her cheek was pressed against his neck, and he chuckled again when he felt it get warm as she blushed. He smiled to himself, then reluctantly pulled her away from him so he could look at her again.

"You look good, Stella," he said. "New Orleans treated you well."

"And New York's treating you about the same," Stella returned cheekily with a smile. He fixed her with a mock glare.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" he said, pretending to be stern. But she just laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

"You work too hard, Mac," she teased him with a smile. Mac returned the smile, half because of what she said and half because of the kiss.

"Well, I took the night off," he said. "You hungry?"

Stella stared at him in amazement. "What?"

Mac looked at her. "I asked if you were hungry," he repeated more slowly.

"No, not that," Stella said. "you took the night off?"

"Yes," Mac said. "Where do you want to eat?"

"Surprise me again," Stella said. "I haven't eaten real food in about a year."

"What, do they give you fake food in New Orleans?" Mac asked dryly.

"No," Stella returned. "they serve things like crawdads and hush puppies and fried catfish. I don't remember the last time I ate a decent burger, or a slice of pizza without _pineapple_ on it, or had fries that didn't taste like fish."

"Well then, I think I know just the place," Mac said. "get your bags and get in, because tonight, Stella Bonasera, you are going to eat real, live, New York food."

Stella chuckled. "I can't wait," she said. She made to grab for her suitcase, but Mac stopped her.

"Here, let me get that for you," Mac said. "you get your laptop."

Stella, happy to oblige, grabbed the laptop instead and loaded it into the back of Mac's car. Mac had already gotten her suitcase in, so she shut the trunk and got in on the passenger side. Mac opened the door for her, and she smiled.

"Thank you," she said. Mac nodded his acknowledgement and went around to the other side of the car. The ride to the restaurant was relatively quiet; Stella was too busy taking in the city and sneaking glances at Mac to carry on a real conversation, and Mac didn't feel the need to converse, mainly because he was too busy glancing at Stella out of the corner of his eye and driving. The drive was pretty short; Mac's restaurant was only about ten minutes from LaGuardia. He pulled up next to it and parked in the best spot, a few feet from the door. When Stella got out of the car, she laughed.

"This place?" she asked teasingly. "I've been back in New York for less than an hour and you're taking me to this dive?"

"Hey, don't judge my restaurant," Mac returned. "Last time you were here, you seemed to enjoy it."

Stella grinned again, riding on a weird high. She was almost giddy with excitement. A waitress approached their booth.

"Hi, my name is Leann and I'll be your server today. Hi, Detective Taylor. Haven't seen you in awhile." She flashed a winning smile in Mac's direction. "And who's your guest today?"

"Hello, Leann," Mac said politely. "This is Detective Stella Bonasera. She's a former colleague of mine who's back from New Orleans."

"Stella?" Leann said in surprise. "Hi! Oh my gosh, I barely recognized you! How've you been?"

Stella smiled back. "I've been good, Leann. You?"

"Oh, you know, still putting myself through college," Leann said. Stella nodded.

"That's good," Stella said encouragingly.

"Yeah," Leann said. "Well, what can I get you, Stella?"

"Coffee, black, please," Stella said warmly.

"Uh-huh," Leann said, writing it down. "and I assume you'll want your usual, Detective Taylor?"

"Yup," Mac said. He was looking from Stella to Leann with some surprise.

"All right," Leann said. "I'll get you guys your beverages. Would you like some more time for your orders?"

"Uh, yes, please," Stella said. she scanned the menu. There were so many tempting things: pizza, burgers, hot dogs, subs, melts, more options than Stella had had in awhile. Finally, she decided on a burger: classic, yet strangely absent in New Orleans. She closed her menu and looked up, only to catch Mac staring at her, a slightly quizzical look on his face.

"Yes?" she asked him, raising her eyebrow.

"Uh, nothing," Mac said quickly, glancing down at his menu. "I'm just curious as to how you know Leann."

"Her parents live in the apartment next to mine in New Orleans," Stella explained. "She helped me move in, and I helped her out after she moved to New York."

"Small world," Mac commented. Stella nodded.

"Yup," Stella agreed. They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"So, what new information do you have on the case?" Stella asked finally.

"What? Oh, um, after I got back to the lab, Lindsay came in with DNA results on the hickey. Apparently, it came back to a Dawson Jones."

"Dawson Jones?" Stella interrupted.

"Yeah," Mac said. "why, do you know him?"

"Ugh, yes," Stella said. "He's a convicted felon and all-around scumbag with a rap sheet longer than the Red Line. He's a regular down at the NOPD."

"He's from New Orleans?" Mac asked.

"Yup," Stella said darkly. Then she brightened. "Hey, do you think he's the serial killer? Because I'd love to get him for more than drunk and disorderlys and vandalism. The guy's a real creep." She shuddered.

"Maybe," Mac agreed. "We can definitely look into it."

"Good," Stella said. She remembered something. "Do you have a picture of the female DB you found in Central Park?" she asked. Mac nodded and pulled a picture out of his jacket pocket. He slid it across the table at her. Stella picked it up, examining her closely. After a minute, she shook her head slightly.

"Nope," she said. "I don't know her." She was going to say more, but then Leann returned with their drinks.

"There you go, guys," she said cheerfully. "you ready to order yet?"

"Yeah, I think we're ready," Mac said. "I'll have my usual."

"Okay," Leann said. "and for you, Stella?"

"I'll have the burger, please. Well done, and fries well done, as well," Stella said to the young waitress. She nodded, grinning.

"That's the first thing I had when I got out of New Orleans, too," Leann confided. "You can't get a good burger for anything down there," she explained to Mac.

"Ain't that right," Stella said. Immediately, she clapped her hands over her mouth while Leann grimaced and held up her fingers in a cross towards Stella.

"Out! Out, demonic hillbilly spirits! Leave this place and never return!" Leann shouted dramatically. Then she and Stella laughed while Mac, once again, looked on in confusion.

"Okay, what is that all about?" Mac asked. Leann grinned at him.

"I'm from Chicago, Mac, and Stella's from New York, obviously, so when I told her I was afraid I was going to pick up all the weird things they say in the Deep South and then begin to sound like them, Stella told me she'd stop me if I ever started talking like one of them, as long as I'd do the same for her," Leann explained. "and it worked, too, obviously, because I never picked up any of the sayings or the accent," she added proudly.

"I've managed to keep the accent at bay, too, but somehow, that one mannerism managed to sneak its way in," Stella explained to Leann.

"Shame on you, Stella," Leann mock-scolded her. Stella grinned apologetically as she handed Leann her menu. Leann took it and walked away, promising she'd be back in a minute with their food.

"So. Where were we?" Mac asked after she'd gone.

"Dawson Jones's DNA on your vic's hickey," Stella reminded him.

"Right. Lindsay also collected trace from the vic's clothes that turned out to be consistent with sand from the Gulf Coast."

"Secondary transfer from Jones," Stella said.

"That's what we figured. And trace under the vic's fingernails turned out to be ketchup, mustard, cornmeal, and animal fat, along with skin from Jones."

"That's weird," Stella said. "Maybe its some kind of food?"

"We determined that it was a corn dog," Mac said.

"Hmm," Stella said. She changed the subject abruptly, not wanting to think about food under a dead girl's fingernails when she was about to enjoy her first real hamburger in almost a year. "How's Adam doing?"

"He recovered just fine," Mac said with a slight smile. "After he woke up, I explained to him that you weren't dead. The poor kid almost passed out again from relief."

"Poor Adam," Stella said sympathetically. "And how are Danny and Lindsay? Are they still together?"

"Yup," Mac said. "They celebrated Lucy's fourth birthday last week, and Lindsay told me today that she was pregnant with their second child."

"Aw, I'll have to tell her congratulations," Stella said happily. "They sure turned out to be a dynamic couple, didn't they?"

"Yup," Mac said. He looked like he was going to say something else, but just then Leann reappeared, carrying their food.

"Here you go, guys," Leann said cheerily. "A burger and fries for Stella, and one steak, medium rare, for Mac."

"Thanks," they both said at once. Leann laughed.

"You two would make a cute couple, you know that?" she said. Mac and Stella looked at each other.

"I'm not so sure," Stella said.

"I don't see it," Mac said at the same time. Leann looked at them, amused.

"Uh-huh," she said. "Can I get you two anything else?"

"No, I think we're good," Mac said. "Thank you." Leann nodded.

"Okay," she said, "I'll just leave you two alone then." Casually, she looked over at Stella. Stella gave her a Look, and Leann smiled mischievously. Then Leann looked down at their table and gasped.

"Oh, my gosh, that's Liza!" she exclaimed, picking up the picture. Both Mac and Stella looked up at her.

"Liza?" Mac asked. "Who's Liza?"

Leann's eyes filled up with tears. "Liza's my roommate," she cried. "Why do you have her picture and why does she look like that?"

"Does Liza have a last name?" Mac asked gently. Leann looked up at him.

"Uh, yeah," she muttered. "Johnson, I think." Her eyes widened. "Oh my gosh, i-is Liza _dead_?"

Stella looked quickly at Mac, then put her hand comfortingly on Leann's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Leann," she said quietly. The tears in Leann's eyes spilled over her cheeks as she sat down.

"But I just saw her last night!" Leann sobbed. "She said she was going to g-go out!"

"Did she say where she was going?" Stella asked. Leann shook her head, her face in her hands.

"She was going out to meet some guy. I don't remember his name, but it sounded really hick-like. D-something, maybe? It –it sounded like two last names."

"Dawson Jones?" Mac asked.

"Uh, maybe?" came Leann's muffled voice. "I don't really remember."

Mac and Stella exchanged significant looks.

"Um, Leann, does Liza have any family?"

"No," Leann said, looking up at them. "Her dad was never around, and her mom died a little bit after our freshman year in college started."

"okay, Leann, this is what we're going to do," Mac said, suddenly businesslike. "We're going to go down to the station, and you're going to give your statement, okay?"

Leann nodded. "I'll just, um, tell my boss I'm leaving," she muttered.

"I can do that," Stella said. "Mac, you take Leann out to the car." Mac nodded.

"He's in the back," Leann said meekly. "just go over to the counter and yell for Adrian."

Stella nodded. She made her way to the counter.

"Hey, Adrian," she yelled into the back. "C'mere a sec."

A disgruntled-looking man stuck his head out of the kitchen.

"Gimme a minute," he hollered.

"Nope," Stella said, flashing her badge. "It's important."

Adrian grumbled, and his head disappeared. He came out from behind double doors.

"Whaddaya need?" he grumbled.

"Detective Bonasera. Leann needs to come with us. She's roommates with a murder victim. Also, I need two takeout containers," Stella said. Adrian nodded and pulled out two takeout containers from under the counter.

"Tell Leann I'm sorry," he said gently. "She's a good kid."

"I will," Stella said. "Thank you." she walked back to their table and packed up their dinners. She didn't know about Mac, but she was starving. Then she grabbed her coat and headed out to the car, where Mac and Leann were waiting.


	5. Chapter 5

When Mac, Stella, and a still-crying Leann arrived at the precinct, it was surprisingly busy, considering the time of night. Mac searched the crowd of cops, suspects, and witnesses until he saw Flack's desk, with its occupant hunched over a file. He motioned for Leann and Stella to follow him and made his way towards the younger detective's desk.

"Hey, Flack," Mac said. Flack looked up in surprise.

"Hey, Mac," Flack said. "What's up?"

"I got a potential suspect in our serial killer case," Mac explained. Flack looked from Mac to Leann and back to Mac doubtfully.

"That girl?" Flack asked incredulously. "You gotta be kidding me, Mac, I don't think she could kill a mouse, let alone viciously stab seven people."

"Flack," Mac said patiently, "the latest vic was her roommate, and she came here to make a statement. Do you think you can get someone to take it from her?"

Flack said nothing. He was too busy looking disbelievingly over Mac's shoulder.

"Flack?" Mac said impatiently. "You still with us?"

"St-_Stella_?" Flack said in shock. He stood up slowly, blinking like he couldn't believe his eyes.

"No," Stella deadpanned. "It's her evil identical twin, Melina. Muahahaha."

Flack laughed and came around the desk to hug her. "How have you been, Stell? How's New Orleans treatin' ya? You look great," he said unabashedly. Stella smiled.

"Pretty well," she said lightly. "I wish I hadn't left, though."

"Yeah, well, so does everyone else," Flack said. "New York's not the same without you, Stella."

Mac cleared his throat. "Um, not to interrupt a reunion, but we have a witness here. Flack, can you get someone to take her statement?"

"Uh, yeah, no problem," Flack said quickly. "Hey, Mitchell!" he yelled into the crowd. A young-looking officer turned around.

"Uh, yeah?" he said.

"Take this woman's statement, will you?" Flack commanded. The officer nodded.

"No problem," he said. he turned to Leann. "If you'd just come with me," he said, offering her his elbow and ushering her away. Leann's lips twitched upward in what might have been a wavering smile before turning away and following the young officer.

"Now, where was I?" Flack said. "Oh, yeah, you were telling me why you're back in New York, Stella."

Stella smiled ruefully. "Serial killer case. Apparently he started his killings in New Orleans, and I'm here as a liaison between New Orleans and New York and help work the New York angle."

"So in other words," Flack said, "You miss us like crazy and took the first chance you could get to come back."

Stella laughed. "Guilty as charged," she said. She looked over at Mac, who was glowering off into the space between Flack's shoulder and his ear.

"What's the matter, Mac?" she said. Mac shook his head.

"We should probably get back to the lab," Mac said suddenly. "I have a lot of work to do, and you have more people to see. Flack, can you put a BOLO out on Dawson Jones?" He made a face that was supposed to be a tight smile but looked more like a grimace instead.

"No problem. I'll get right on it. I should probably be getting back to work anyway," Flack said reluctantly. He gave Stella another tight hug. "It's been great seeing you again, kiddo," he said.

"You too, Flack," she said. "I'll see you later."

"You better," Flack said jokingly. "See ya, Mac," he added, as Mac made another grimace-smile and headed for the door. Stella raised her eyebrow at his back, but waved to Flack and followed suit. Then she turned around. "Flack, after Leann's done giving her statement, can you have an officer drive her home?"

"No problem," Flack said. He sat back down and resumed working on his paperwork. Stella turned and continued out the door to where Mac was waiting, looking impatient.

"So," Mac said. "To the lab? There probably aren't going to be that many people there this time of night, though," he added. Stella nodded.

"That sounds fine," Stella said. "It'll be nice to see everything again, and I need a place to plug in, anyway."

"Plug in?" Mac repeated blankly.

"My laptop," Stella explained. "I didn't get the chance to charge it before I left, and my battery is almost dead. Plus, I need to find a hotel."

Mac snorted. "Good luck finding a good one," he said. "The entire city's booked because of the UN Council that's meeting this week."

"Ugh, that's right, I forgot about that," Stella groaned. "I guess I'll just have to find one that's not in town."

"Don't be ridiculous," Mac said immediately. "you can stay with me."

Stella hesitated. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said slowly, suddenly very interested in the buildings going by outside the car window.

"Why not? My couch has always been open," Mac reminded her.

"I don't know…" Stella deliberated. "I snore, remember?"

"Oh, come on, Stella," Mac said patiently. "it's just my couch. Besides, if you stay in a hotel outside the city limits, it'll take you forever to get into town in the mornings, and you don't know what kind of hotel you're getting, and you could end up in a roach motel."

Stella thought of the roach motels she'd seen in both New York and New Orleans and shuddered. Mac saw the shudder and smiled, knowing that he'd won.

"roach motel, couch in my apartment," Mac mused out loud. "I know which one I would choose."

"Okay, okay," Stella laughed. "I'll sleep on your couch."

Mac smiled a small smile to himself. He was pleased that she'd agreed.

_Almost too pleased_, a small voice in the back of his head said slyly. Mac ignored it, pulling into the garage at the lab. He heard Stella sigh contentedly, and he looked over at her.

"Everything all right over there?" he asked nonchalantly. She nodded, her eyes closed.

"I can smell the garage," she admitted. "It all smells familiar. I'm home, Mac," she said with a smile.

"I'm home," she repeated slowly, like she was savoring the taste of the words together. Mac chuckled as he pulled into his parking spot.

"You missed this place, didn't you?" he commented. Stella nodded again.

"So much," she whispered, her voice breaking a little. Mac put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder.

"Hey," he said gently, "It's okay. You're back now," he reminded her. She sighed and nodded.

"I know," she said. She buried her face in his shoulder a little. They sat like that for a little while, even though Mac had already turned the car off. Stella hid her face in Mac's shoulder carefully, blinking back tears. In New Orleans, she'd felt so alone, even when she'd been with Patrick. Everything happened in slow motion down there, and she was sick of being in slow motion. She controlled her emotions and composed her face.

Mac looked down at Stella's curly head, buried ever so casually into his shoulder. He could feel her forehead creasing with what felt like worry, the way she bit her lip, and the way her chin trembled just a little. He realized she was about to cry, so he gently kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek on her head. Presently, her chin stopped quivering, and her forehead relaxed. She unburied her head from his shoulder.

"Better?" he asked. She nodded and allowed a small smile to grace her features. He smiled back tentatively, looking into her eyes. She broke eye contact after a second, looking in the back seat.

"Where's our food?" she muttered distractedly.

"Back seat, behind you," Mac said.

"Right," she said. She grabbed it and got out of the car quickly. She mentally shook herself. She wasn't stupid; she knew what had happened in the car. She had almost cried. Stella Bonasera had cried maybe three times in the past ten years of her life, and she didn't need to become all weepy because she hated New Orleans, or because she was back in her hometown. _Come on,_ she scolded herself. _You're stronger than that_. She shivered; it was cold in the garage. She went to the back of the truck and opened it, looking for her coat. She couldn't find it, and she shut the door irritably. She turned to go check the backseat and almost ran smack into Mac, who was standing there, holding her coat.

"Looking for this?" he asked innocently. She shot him a dirty look.

"Yes," she said, her teeth chattering. She let him help her into her coat, smiling when he wrapped his arms around her in a backwards hug. She told herself the only reason she didn't object to this was because he was warm.

"Thanks," she said grudgingly. He smiled.

"No problem," he said. They walked together to the elevators, Stella unsure of what she would find.


	6. Chapter 6

The ride up to the 35th floor was quiet, each of the detectives caught up in their own thoughts. The elevator doors opened with a small electronic _ding_ and Stella stepped out and into the forensics lab. Again, she almost had to blink back tears. Everything was exactly as she'd remembered it. She looked around, smiling as the memories surfaced and greeted her like old friends. A strong sense of homecoming flooded her, almost overwhelmed her, filling her with joy. She felt a sudden and very strong urge to twirl around in a circle, like a child in the snow. Mac watched her with some amusement. She turned around and caught him staring at her, trying to hide his laughter. She smiled blissfully at him. He shook his head and chuckled, then motioned for her to follow him. They walked through the lab, Stella going slowly, drinking in her surroundings. Eventually she noticed that they had walked past Mac's office.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the break room," he said. "we need to get forks." She nodded and continued to follow him through the lab, looking around her in wonder. As Mac had predicted, the lab was almost empty. She could imagine it during the day, though, bustling and full of people. She soon lagged several feet behind Mac.

Mac looked back occasionally, and smiled when he did, shaking his head at her childlike wonder. When they got to the break room, Mac noticed the lights were on. He looked back at Stella, who was still several feet back.

"Hurry up," he called. She nodded, still looking around. Mac shook his head again and walked into the break room. To his surprise, his entire team minus Jo and plus Flack and Sid was standing there. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Flack signaled him to not say anything and winked. He nodded. Danny motioned him to come over. Just then, Stella opened the door, calling "Mac?" she stopped short when she saw all of them standing there.

"Surprise!" Adam said from the back.

"Welcome home, Stella!" everyone else chorused. Stella laughed.

"You guys!" she said excitedly. "Oh my gosh, what are you guys doing here?"

"We're here to see you, of course," Danny said.

"Aw, you guys didn't have to do that," she said as she hugged Danny.

"Oh?" Hawkes said. "Okay then. See you later." He pretended to walk out the door.

"Oh, stop it," Stella said, hitting him playfully on the shoulder. She hugged him too.

"And you," she said to Lindsay. "How've you been, kiddo?"

"I've been good," Lindsay said. She was slightly flushed with pleasure and glowing.

"I heard about the baby. Congratulations!" she muttered in Lindsay's ear. Lindsay blushed as she pulled away. Stella laughed. She turned around and found Sid behind her.

"How's New Orleans, Stella?" he asked.

"Ugh, I'm glad I'm back, Sid. Our ME isn't nearly as interesting as you are."

Sid beamed. "Well, it's glad to know I've been missed."

Stella laughed as she hugged him. Finally, she turned Adam, who was standing a few feet away.

"Adam," she said playfully, "Are you hiding from me?"

"No," he said quickly, "I figured you'd want to save the best for last."

Stella laughed out loud. "Oh, I missed you, Adam," she said, hugging him tightly. He returned her hug just as tightly, and Stella remembered that he'd thought she was dead.

She smiled at him, then looked around. Everyone was talking at once. She smiled, but only had a second before the questions began.

"What's New Orleans like?"

"What are the people like?"

"Do you like it in New Orleans?"

"Did you miss us?"

"How long are you going to be here?"

"How's the crime lab coming along?"

"Did you meet any guys there?"

"Whoa, okay, everyone calm down. Give me some space!" Stella said, laughing. "It's a beautiful city, but it's been horribly destroyed by Katrina. There are still parts of town that haven't been cleaned up yet. The parts of town that have been rebuilt or survived are slowly coming to life. The people there are, for the most part, pretty nice. There are a lot of people who are living in poverty on the streets. New Orleans isn't a bad place, but I definitely prefer New York. Everything here is so much more alive! And of course I miss you guys," she said, smiling widely. "I miss you guys like crazy! I wish I hadn't left, and I think about you guys every day. But I'm glad I left, because the people at the crime lab in New Orleans need me. However, they can do without me for as long as it takes to solve this case, because I'm not leaving until this serial killer is caught. The crime lab is so very understaffed and out-of-date, but we're working on getting the funding from the city to pay for some new equipment. We do the best we can, though, and it helps. Coincidentally, the city of New Orleans is around 64% male, so I have, indeed, met a few guys. None of them have really caught my interest, and the one that I did get involved with I sincerely regret. Also, he ended up dead. But I don't really want to talk about New Orleans. How have you all been?"

Stella talked with them for hours, catching up. She was brought up to date on all the gossip by Lindsay while she ate her burger and fries, and Adam, who spent a great deal of time by her (she suspected that he had to make sure for himself that she wasn't dead) gave her more details on the postcard written in her blood. Stella was overjoyed to see and speak to all of her friends again. It seemed to her like no time had passed. She spent some time talking to Danny about Lucy.

"How is she, by the way?" she asked. "She's four, right?"

"Yup," Danny said proudly. "She's walking and talking and running around our apartment as fast as her little legs can carry her. I'm trying to teach her to play baseball, much to Lindsay's chagrin. She keeps complaining about all the grass stains, but I tell her it's all a part of life. She's started preschool, too, which unfortunately, she's not too fond of. She keeps getting into trouble because she's putting worms in the classroom and throwin' rocks at boys."

Stella grinned. "I bet that pleases you, doesn't it?"

"Yup," Danny said happily. "The way I see it, the longer she keeps throwing rocks at 'em, the better, 'cuz when she stops, that's when I gotta start." He and Stella laughed together at that.

"Has she picked up 'boom!" yet?"

"Oh, yeah," Lindsay said, coming up from behind her husband and rolling her eyes. Danny laughed loudly.

"Aw, come on, ya gotta admit it, its cute as hell, Linds," he said, slipping his arm casually around her waist. Lindsay rolled her eyes again, but she nodded her agreement. Then she yawned.

"Someone's getting tired," Danny said.

"You'd be tired too, if you were growing another human being inside your stomach," Lindsay said.

"Okay, okay, we should probably relieve the babysitter anyway, it's nearly two, isn't it?"

"Ugh, she's gonna be so upset," Lindsay muttered.

"Eh, I'll pitch in an extra fifteen and give her a ride home," Danny reassured her.

"okay, that's fair. We're gonna go now, Stella, okay?" Lindsay said, yawning again. "I'd love to stay later, but I just can- can't keep my eyes open," Lindsay said apologetically as she yawned a third time.

"It's all right, kiddo. You need your sleep, and besides, I'll be here again tomorrow." she said. "Goodnight, guys. It was great seeing both of you again." She hugged both of them tightly.

"I should probably get going, too, Stella," Sid said, watching them go. "My wife complains if I'm out too late, and I've got an early shift tomorrow."

"Okay, goodnight, Sid," Stella said. She didn't mind them leaving; actually, she was a little jet-lagged and running on less than four hours of sleep. One by one, her team slowly said goodbye to her until it was just her and Mac.

"Well, did you enjoy yourself?" Mac said. Stella nodded as she yawned.

"Uh-huh," she said. "I'm glad you organized that."

"What?" Mac said, laughing. "I didn't. Apparently, after I told Adam you were coming back, he called up everyone and asked them to stay a little later and see you."

"Aw, that was so sweet of him," Stella said. She smiled sleepily at Mac. "remind me to thank him tomorrow."

"I will," Mac said. "You want to head out now? It's just us," he said, looking around. Stella nodded, and together, they started the walk back to the elevator, chatting casually about their team. In the elevator, Stella and Mac leaned against the back, and Stella rested her head on Mac's shoulder. Mac smiled when she did, glad that she felt comfortable enough. Mac led a yawning Stella to his car and helped her in. She was asleep before he pulled out of the parking lot.

The drive to his apartment took twenty minutes, and Stella slept soundly the whole way. He pulled into his parking spot and turned to wake Stella.

"Stella?" Mac said gently, shaking her awake. "we're back at my apartment." Stella groaned and sat up, rubbing her eye.

"Wha –?" she muttered.

"We're at my apartment," he repeated.

"Right," she said sleepily. She sat up properly in the car seat and yawned, stretching as she did so. She slid out of the car and stood, shivering, in front of Mac's apartment. She helped Mac get her stuff, insisting that she at least carry her own laptop and purse. Mac shut the door of the truck and led the way up to his apartment. They walked up the stairs and into the building. He opened the door and he and Stella walked slowly together to the elevator. The elevator ride to his floor was enveloped in sleepy silence, at least as far as Stella was concerned. Mac was ever-alert, as usual. When they got off the elevator, he allowed her to step off first and then led the way to his apartment. He let them in, holding the door for Stella.

To her surprise, Mac's apartment was fairly clean. She looked around critically, then shrugged, too tired to be suspicious. She set her laptop and purse next to her suitcase, which was standing by the couch that she assumed she would be sleeping on.

"May I take your coat?" Mac said, surprisingly close to her ear. She almost jumped.

"Ooh.." she muttered at him. He laughed gently.

Stella scowled at him but handed him her coat. He put it in the closet.

"I'll be right back," he said, going into the back of the apartment. Stella nodded, yawning. She looked around the apartment, noticing the pictures of Reed and Claire on the wall. She smiled. Mac returned, carrying sheet, blanket, and pillow. He set the blanket and pillow on a nearby table and began spreading the sheet on the couch while Stella looked on. He then did the same thing with the blanket. He set the pillow on top of the blanket.

"Your bed is ready," he said. She smiled.

"Thanks," she said softly around another yawn.

"You want to use the bathroom first?" Mac offered. Stella shrugged.

"Okay," she said. She went to her bag and unpacked her nightclothes and her toiletries bag. She went through the bedroom into the bathroom (which was again surprisingly clean) and changed out of the clothes she'd quickly donned that morning, slipping into a pair of sweatpants from the Academy and a black NYPD t-shirt. She took her makeup off, too, not wanting to stain Mac's pillows. She finished getting ready for bed, and then tapped her fingers gently against the door.

"Hey, Mac," she called through the door, "You decent?"

"Yeah," came Mac's reply from the other side. Stella opened the door. Mac, she noticed, hadn't changed.

"You find everything okay?" he asked. She nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable standing in front of Mac in her night clothes.

"Well, goodnight then," she said.

"Uh-huh," Mac said absently. "Night."

She walked out of the bedroom and over to the couch. She sat down, exhausted from the events of the day. She could scarcely believe everything that had happened. It all felt like a dream, and she was afraid to go to sleep, for fear of waking up and finding herself in New Orleans again. Eventually, however, fatigue won her over, and she crawled underneath the blankets, barely able to keep her eyes open. She sighed tiredly, and realized that the pillow smelled like Mac. This made her smile gently, and she closed her eyes, inhaling his scent and slowly drifting off into a deep, comforting sleep.

Across the room, unbeknownst to her, Mac was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. He watched her pull the blanket over herself and close her eyes. He noticed her smile to herself and wondered why. He wondered what was going through her head as she drifted off to sleep. He turned away and gently pulled the door closed, concealing his sleeping partner. He sighed and began loosening his tie, going over the events of the day. He undressed and got into bed, yawning. He was surprised by how tired he was. He closed his eyes and willingly let sleep overtake him. He fell almost immediately into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** So I'm an idiot. Who is incapable of even counting, apparently. I'm sorry, guys. I gave you 2 chapters in Chapter 5 instead of 1, and ended up giving you 3 chapters in all. It's a long story. Don't ask. Basically, this is nothing new, I just figured out that 6 comes after 5 and 7 comes AFTER 6, not before. I'm a genius, I know. Forward all my awards to charities. So I'm going to post a new chapter tomorrow, just because i feel bad about faking you guys out.

* * *

><p>Somehow, Stella knew she was dreaming. She didn't know how she knew, but she did, and in the dream she saw Mac. They were in the lab again, surrounded by their team. They were laughing and chatting casually, and Stella looked around, happy that she was finally back among her people.<p>

"Ah s'pose youse be missin' yuh's people purdy badly," Shuggah's voice reverberated through the room, but everyone else acted like they hadn't heard anything. She looked around and there he was, standing behind her and grinning.

"I do," she said.

"Yuh glad tuh be gittin' tuh see yuh's people?" he asked.

"I am, Shuggah," Stella said immediately. Shuggah laughed.

"Ah knows it!" he said gleefully. He laughed once, and the laughter echoed throughout the room mockingly.

"Yuh wuz powerful lonely in New Ohleahns, wuzn't yuh, Miz Stey-la?" he said matter-of-factly.

"Yup," Stella said, "But I'm home now, Shuggah, so I'm not lonely anymore." As soon as the words left her mouth, a shot rang out. She ducked immediately, looking around. She was the only person who had reacted at all. The only exception was Lindsay, who was lying on the floor closest to her, dead from a gunshot wound to the head.

Suddenly, Stella was no longer sure she was dreaming.

"Lindsay! No!" Stella screamed. Everyone else continued talking happily, unaware that one of them had been shot. She looked, confused, at Shuggah. He shook his head, looking mournfully at Lindsay lying on the floor. Another shot came, this time hitting Flack. He fell to the floor, dead.

"Flack!" Stella screamed, helpless to do anything but watch. Around her, no one seemed to notice that two people now lay dead on the floor.

"Why?" she yelled at Shuggah. "What did they do to deserve that?"

Shuggah said nothing, but looked at her sorrowfully. Another shot. Danny crumpled, dead before he hit the floor. Stella screamed again, now sobbing.

"WHAT THE HELL, SHUGGAH?" she screamed. Shuggah just shook his head silently. Another shot rang out, and now Shuggah himself crumpled. Stella screamed again as more shots rang out, hitting Sheldon, Adam, and Sid. Now the only ones left were herself and Mac. She and Mac made eye contact, and she felt a thrill of fear.

She knew what was going to happen next, knew before it even happened. Mac was standing alone in the back of the room. The bodies of all their friends lay between them. He still didn't appear to recognize what was going on, but Stella knew. She screamed for Mac to duck, to hide, to get out of the way, but it was too late. She watched in horror as the bullet appeared from nowhere, headed directly for Mac's heart. She tried to run, to push him out of the way, but there wasn't enough time. Instead, everything moved in slow motion. She watched the bullet pierce his flesh, saw the surprise register on his face, heard his yell, and watched as the life left his eyes like someone had flipped a fatal switch. She ran over to him, screaming and sobbing and calling his name.

…and someone was calling her name…

"Stella!" Mac's voice shattered the horrible nightmare as Stella sat up, screaming "Mac!" She looked around frantically. Mac was standing a few feet away, his gun drawn.

"Stella! Are you all right? What the hell happened?" Mac asked anxiously. Stella looked up at him, bewildered, and then burst into tears. She slumped back onto the makeshift bed, muttering what sounded like a prayer in Greek and saying "Oh God, oh God, oh God," over and over. He set his gun down on the coffee table and sat down next to her. Immediately, she hugged him to her protectively, sobbing hysterically. Mac, taken aback by Stella's tears, nonetheless took her into his arms around her and rocked her back and forth, trying to soothe her.

"What happened, Stella?" Mac asked when at last her tears seemed to subside.

"You all were killed," Stella said bleakly, rubbing her eyes. She released Mac and curled up in a fetal position, wrapping her arms around her knees, looking like a small child.

"None of—you—ever—s-saw it c-c-coming," she said disjointedly. "Lindsay, Flack, Danny, Shuggah, every last one of you, all gone, all my fault, and no one could tell me why"— she paused and took a gasping breath—"and none of you had any warning, and I could see it all and no one seemed to notice you were –oh!" she said as more tears leaked out of your eyes. She shook them away, lost in the apparent horror of the nightmare.

"They saved you for last," she whispered. "Everyone else was dead, and it was just me and you and I tried to stop it, and I c-c-couldn't!" she dissolved into tears again, and this time Mac brought her into his lap and rocked her like a child, holding her close.

"Shh, shh shh-shh-shh-shh-shh," Mac shushed her comfortingly. She slid her arms around his neck and buried her head into his chest, sobbing like her heart was breaking.

"I –was so –sc-scared f-for you," Stella sobbed softly after a few minutes.

"I know," Mac said. "You're safe now, it's all right, and you're okay."

She brought her face out of his neck and looked at him, looked him straight in the eyes.

"I saw you die," she said, looking haunted as the scene replayed in her mind.

"I know," Mac said quietly.

"I didn't know –I-I-" she couldn't finish.

Mac simply nodded. Then everything seemed to slow down. In that one second, all of Mac's worrying seemed to make sense, and then Mac made a decision.

He kissed her.

Stella let out a little gasp when their lips touched, but she didn't immediately pull away. The kiss was gentle, comforting, and yet—

Stella moved her head back and looked at him questioningly. Mac said nothing, but lowered his mouth to hers again, and this time Stella didn't hesitate.

Stella turned her head slightly, and together they deepened the kiss. Mac's hand slid up her back and into her hair, while his other hand slid to the small of her back, holding her closer to him. Her own hands, encircling Mac's neck, slid down and grasped his shoulders. She shifted her body to a more comfortable position on his lap. He held her to him tightly, and she clung to him like he was a rock and they were in a storm, a storm of loneliness and fear, and they held on to each other, afraid to become separated and lose each other. Mac's tongue brushed against Stella's lips, and they parted with ease, and he was exploring the inside of her mouth, discovering new things about his ex-partner, things he hadn't known he wanted to find out. And Stella was enjoying his kiss, his gentle touch, because she had been alone, alone for so long, and never kissed like this, even when she'd been with Patrick—

Patrick. Stella's eyes snapped open.

Patrick had been a coworker.

Mac…was a coworker.

She'd decided after Patrick that she couldn't get involved with coworkers.

Coworkers didn't work out.

Stella broke off the kiss abruptly, stumbled off of Mac's lap, looking at him in a new light. She took several unsteady steps backward.

She couldn't get involved with him.

That bastard Patrick had taught her that.

Mac was looking at her, confused.

"Are you okay, Stella?" he asked uncertainly.

"That –that was a mistake," she said unconvincingly, looking anywhere but him. She and Mac were both breathing hard.

"A mistake?" Mac asked harshly. She nodded, feeling suddenly like a deer in headlights.

"I can't –I can't do this," she gasped.

Mac stood up, looking at her searchingly. Stella tried to compose herself. Finally Mac sighed, his face a stone mask.

"All right," he said unemotionally. "If that's the way it needs to be."

She nodded again. "Yes," she whispered, averting her eyes to the floor. She felt a single tear slide down her cheek, but she didn't wipe it away.

He nodded and turned back, heading back into the bedroom.

"Goodnight," he said casually.

"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly after him. He pretended to not hear her. He went into his bedroom and shut the door with a snap.

"Well," he muttered to himself. "That answers two questions."

He did indeed have feelings for Stella.

Not only that, but she had feelings for him, too, even if she wouldn't admit it.

And he definitely didn't want to see Jo anymore.

In his living room, unbeknownst to him, Stella was sobbing again. She sobbed quietly, as to not bring back Mac. Their kiss had affected her so much, answered so many questions she hadn't even known she'd had until he'd answered them. Part of her wanted to go into his bedroom, apologize and kiss him again and again, until they had melted the loneliness that she had felt for so long.

However, another part, a deeper part of her, warned her that to do so would be a mistake. She was forcibly reminded of her first kiss with Patrick, and how she'd gotten involved with him with little misgivings. She thought of the disaster that had followed and she knew that she'd done the right thing.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt her to do it. She cared about Mac, if not as a coworker, then certainly as a friend. He was a good person, a kind person, and didn't deserve to be jerked around by a coworker. He didn't need to go through that.

She couldn't go through that again.

So she cried, quietly, wishing desperately that something could change. She knew she was in love with him, had been for a long time, and that nothing could change. She tried to quiet herself, get herself to stop crying, but the tears kept coming. Finally, Stella gave up. She lay down and let the tears seep into the pillow, sobbing silently and slowly inhaling Mac's familiar scent while she waited for the sleep that wouldn't come.

Mac wasn't sleeping either. He lay staring at the ceiling, his brow furrowed in thought. He thought of Stella –surely asleep again by now –in the other room and sighed. He didn't know what he was going to do, didn't know if there was anything he could do. His and Stella's kiss was nothing he'd ever experienced before. He'd kissed plenty of women, but Stella kissed in a way that was entirely new to him –freely and without abandon, innocently, but with experience. And the fact that it was _Stella_—familiar, dependent Stella—made it all the more phenomenal. He sighed, trying to comprehend it all. He couldn't wrap his head around it, but he tried, for hours.

Around dawn, Mac thought of something else: what was he going to do about it? He'd been alone, except for the occasional night with Jo, for the better part of five years. This was his choice, but now, for the first time, he began to question his bachelorhood. Was he ready to get into another serious relationship? Mac thought that he was, but Stella clearly wasn't. He wondered why, thinking back to their conversation on the phone, and when he couldn't think of anything, went over everything he knew about her.

She'd had to shoot Frankie, but that was years ago. Mac didn't think that was it, but something told him he was close. He thought again to his conversation with her on the phone. Then he sat straight up in bed as it hit him.

_The person you just described is my ex, Patrick Andries. He worked with me at the New Orleans Crime Lab up until a few months ago_.

_You start dating him and then before you know it, you're hauling his drunk, naked ass out of your office in handcuffs and almost get fired because of him_.

_Almost get fired because of him._

_My ex._

_Worked with me._

_Almost get fired because of him._

"God dammit, Patrick Andries," Mac cursed him. That explained everything. She didn't want to get involved with him because of what had happened with Andries. He groaned and put his head in his hands.

Great. Now he knew why, but he hadn't made any progress. She was still going to compare him to Andries. He needed to prove to her that he wasn't going to hurt her.

"Well, how the hell am I supposed to do that?" he muttered aloud. His bedroom didn't have any answers to offer him, not that he'd expected it to. Groaning, he conceded defeat to sleep and went into the bathroom. He showered and dressed, all the while thinking of ways to win Stella over. He had to admit, even to himself, that they weren't very good. He controlled his thoughts and focused his mind, unsuccessfully trying to clear all thoughts of Stella temporarily from his head, at least long enough to make it to the lab with her. He opened his bedroom door. To his great surprise, Stella was awake. It looked like she'd had around as good a night as he had, maybe worse. Her eyes were puffy, and her hair, already curly, now coiled away from her head at random angles as she sat on the couch, staring off into space. Still, he had never seen a more beautiful woman.

"Good morning," he said somewhat stiffly. She looked over to him, such a profound sadness in her eyes that made him want to wrap his arms around her and never let her go, and snorted quietly.

"Good morning," she said sarcastically. Mac smiled; Stella wasn't a morning person on a good day.

"You want coffee?" he asked casually. She nodded.

"I'm gonna use your shower," she muttered, standing up. He nodded and went to the closet to get his coat. Stella grabbed her toiletries bag and a change of clothes and went into the bathroom. She closed the door, looked in the mirror, and groaned.

Her hair was sticking up all weird and her eyes were puffy and red from hours of crying. She looked like an angry garden gnome that had lost his hat and then ran through a wind tunnel. The analogy made her smile, but she still turned her back on her reflection and started the water for her shower. She undressed and quickly got into the billowing steam, hoping it would erase some of the marks last night had left on her.

When she got out five minutes later, she was relieved to find herself almost back to her normal-looking self. She had bags under her eyes, but they were the only sign that she had done anything other than slept last night. She covered them up with a little makeup and then applied her usual makeup, taking a little more care than usual.

She finished dressing and getting ready, and stepped out of Mac's bathroom tired, but looking fine. She could smell coffee and she smiled. She put her things back into her suitcase and then followed her nose into the kitchen, where Mac had brought the coffee.

Mac looked up from where he was sitting at the table when she entered and smiled at her.

"Feeling better?" he asked. She nodded and sat down across from him.

"Much," she said. She took a swig of coffee. She sighed as the warm brown liquid filled her stomach, warming her and chasing away all the bad feelings from the night before. Mac slid a newspaper across the table at her. She shook her head. She didn't want to read the news first thing in the morning; it would depress her when she was already having such a good day. He shrugged and opened it himself. Stella drank her coffee in silence, staring at the table. A few minutes of silence went by. Finally, Mac cleared his throat and set down the newspaper.

"I want to apologize," he began, "If anything I did last night upset you in any way. It was not my intention to upset you."

Stella nodded. "I know—" she began, but he held up his hand to silence her.

"That being said," He continued, "I can't truthfully say that I regret it." He looked her squarely in the eye.

"I don't need an explanation, and I don't want one. It won't happen again unless you want it to," he finished simply.

Stella nodded.

"Okay," she said simply. She took a sip of her coffee, and then looked up at him.

"I don't regret it either, Mac, but'—she swallowed, her throat dry—"it can't happen again."

Mac nodded, looking into her eyes. They were the only part of her anatomy that betrayed her, saying things that he didn't think she could. But he still nodded, knowing that if one part of the body showed her true feelings, the rest could conceivably follow. They finished their coffee, and then Mac stood up.

"You almost ready to go?" he asked her. She nodded.

"All right then," Mac said with dry enthusiasm, "let's go catch a serial killer."


	8. Chapter 8

When they got to the lab, it was already busy and full of people. Security at the front desk made Stella get a Visitor's pass, much to her chagrin, and she scowled on the elevator ride up, but other than that, things moved smoothly. Lindsay was waiting for them when they stepped off the elevator.

"So I got the full analysis back on the postcard," she said without preamble. "It was purchased at a General Lee's Convenience Store on the corner of Division and"–

"Johnson," Stella finished for her as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Lindsay asked. Stella looked from Lindsay to Mac in disbelief.

"That's less than a mile from my apartment," she said. She looked down at Lindsay's report.

"Were you able to get any of the writing off the postcard?" She asked. Lindsay shook her head.

"No, but I sent it to Adam to see if he could maybe work with it digitally," Lindsay said. Stella nodded.

"I'm going to see how he's doing on that," Stella said. "Is everything still in the same place?" she asked uncertainly. Lindsay nodded. Stella turned and headed towards where she knew Adam would be.

"AARGH!" Stella paused a few feet from the door when she heard Adam's yell of frustration.

"…Goddam gibberish postcard written in blood…" he was muttering under his breath when Stella poked her head into the room.

"Hey, Adam," she said cautiously. "Everything going okay in there?" Adam looked up and sighed in frustration.

"Hey, Stella," he said. "Analysis on the postcard is not going well. The address and the greeting are completely gone, washed away by the rain we got a few nights ago. ALS isn't picking anything up, either. I can't get anything off of it, so I don't know who it's to or their address. Can't read the signature, it looks like it starts with a 'P' or maybe a 'D'. To make matters worse, whoever wrote it apparently didn't have too strong a grasp on the English language, so they just made up words whenever they needed one."

"Here, may I see?" she asked, laughing.

"Sure," Adam said. Stella walked over and looked at the writing.

"Yup," Stella said after a moment. "You're right. It's not in English, at least not all of it."

"What?" Adam asked, looking confused.

"This," Stella said, "is in what I affectionately call 'New Orleans shorthand'. Basically, it's about a quarter English, a quarter pseudo-French, and roughly half bad spelling and poor grammar. It's popular among some NOLA residents."

"Are you fluent?" Adam asked. Stella grimaced.

"Kind of," she said. "Can you put it on the big screen?"

Adam nodded, hitting a few buttons.

"Thanks," Stella said. "Now I need you to leave me alone for 15 minutes while I figure this out."

Adam nodded. "Okay," he said agreeably. "Why?"

"Trust me. It's complicated," Stella said, grimacing again. Adam shrugged and left the room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as the door closed, Stella sighed. She recognized this particular brand of New Orleans shorthand, and that was going to make it that much harder to translate. She grabbed a pen and a pad of paper and got to work.

Across the hall, Mac was sitting in his office, trying to work. He kept getting distracted, though, which was unusual for him. He was watching Stella and Adam talk. He watched as she bent over something Adam was working on, and then made a face. She began to describe something, which was apparently unsuccessful, because Adam just looked more confused. He put something on the bigger screen and after a few more words with Stella, walked out, shutting the door behind him. Mac caught his eye and waved him over.

"Yeah, Mac?" he said, walking through the open door.

"What's she working on in there, Adam?" he asked nonchalantly. Adam shook his head, looking confused.

"She said something about the postcard being in 'New Orleans shorthand' and not being able to translate with someone there," he said, looking bewildered. Mac raised his eyebrow at him.

"Boss, if I knew more, I could tell you, but that's all she said to me. Then she asked me to go and leave her alone for 15 minutes," Adam said. Mac shook his head, looking at Stella over Adam's shoulder.

"Everything all right?" Adam asked. "You look a little preoccupied." Mac nodded.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine," he said absently. "Go back to work, Adam."

"Uh, okay," Adam said. Mac watched him go and sighed. Adam's unusually astute observation was pretty dead-on.

Mac couldn't focus with Stella there. He kept remembering her face when she'd broken off their kiss the night before, how she'd looked almost… scared.

"What did you do to her, Andries?" he muttered. He could only guess. There was a soft tapping on his door, and he looked up to see Jo standing in his doorway.

"Hey, Mac? You got a minute?" she twanged softly.

"Yeah," Mac said. He cast one more look over Jo's shoulder and shook his head.

"Come on in," he told Jo. She stepped in.

"Uh, can I shut the door?" she asked.

"Sure," Mac said. She shut the door and turned to face Mac.

"So, um, I've been talking with my ex-husband," she began, "and you know how he got transferred to Michigan six months ago, right?" Mac nodded, and she hurried on, looking at the floor. "Well, he told me a few days ago that he wants full custody of the kids. His mind seems pretty set on it, and I wanted to try to talk to him without getting lawyers involved. However, whenever I call, he makes up some excuse or another and hangs up. I need to take a few days and go up there so I can talk to him face-to-face. I'm sorry it's such short notice," she apologized, but Mac held up his hand. With great effort, he smiled.

"It's all right, Jo," he said. "Take all the time you need. I just need you to finish out today."

Jo looked relieved. "That's no problem," she said. "Thank you so much, Mac, I really appreciate it."

"No problem," he said with a smile.

Jo smiled. Then she cocked her head in a way that was strongly reminiscent of a Cocker Spaniel.

"So what's bothering you?" she asked. Mac sighed.

"It's something with… Stella," he said unwillingly.

"Anything I can help with?" she asked. Mac briefly imagined telling her everything and grimaced.

"No," Mac said coolly. "Unfortunately, it's something she's chosen to deal with alone."

Jo looked over her shoulder at Stella sympathetically. After Mac had gone for his walk, she had asked Adam about Stella. He'd quickly established her as a strong woman with equally strong moral fiber and certain stubbornness about her. She had liked the way Adam had described her; she sounded like someone Jo wanted to get to know. She'd decided to make a point of introducing herself when she saw her.

"Well, I can't speak for her, as I don't know her, but from what Adam told me, she'll make the right decision on her own, or if she needs help, she'll ask for it," Jo said comfortingly.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Mac said. He glanced over Jo's shoulder at Stella again, but she had gone. He felt a prick of disappointment.

"You don't have to worry about her, Mac," Jo said soothingly. "You"—

"Mac!" Stella burst into the room, looking murderous. She stopped short when she saw Jo.

"Who the hell are you?" Stella asked bluntly. Mac raised his eyebrow at Stella over Jo's shoulder. Jo smiled and stuck out her hand.

"I'm Jo Danville," she said.

"Stella Bonasera," Stella said, hurriedly shaking Jo's hand. She turned back to Mac.

"I need to talk to you," Stella said urgently. She looked at Jo. "Alone, please," she added.

Jo nodded and left as quietly as she'd come, shutting the door behind her. Stella watched her go, then rounded on Mac.

"I just finished translating the postcard for Adam," she seethed. "It was from Patrick." She looked down at the paper she held in her hand in disgust. "He's describing me. I mean," she raked her fingers roughly through her hair and exhaled angrily, "he's describing us. Intimate –details –about his relationship with me." She began to pace agitatedly around Mac's office, feeling like she was going to burst.

"I mean, it's like someone told him _exactly_ what he needed to do to piss me off the most," Stella fumed. "I'm telling ya, Mac, Andries is damn lucky he's already dead, or I'd"— her English moved flawlessly into rapid-fire Greek just in time, and Mac was almost positive he didn't need a translator to get the point of what she was saying. While Stella ranted in Greek, gesturing violently, Mac watched her silently, an unfathomable look on his face. He understood her anger, and it made him angry, too.

Eventually, Stella worked out enough of her fury in Greek to switch abruptly back to English.

"I swear, Mac, its bad enough he almost got me fired, but this? I could just –UGH!" she shouted. Mac noticed people stopping to stare and waved them on.

"Uh, Stella, perhaps you want to step outside for some air," he suggested lightly.

"I'm fine," Stella snapped.

"No, Stella," Mac said gently, "You're not fine. You need to step out for some air."

Stella sighed in frustration.

"No, I'm fine," she insisted. "Just give me a minute. If I go outside, I might do something I regret."

"Like what?"

"Honestly? I don't know, but I'll regret it," Stella growled. Mac grabbed his coat.

"Get your jacket," he said.

"Mac—"

"It's not a request, Stella," he said with an air of quiet authority. "Get your coat."

"Fine," Stella said crossly. She stalked out of Mac's office, but was back within moments, carrying her coat. Mac met her at his door calmly and gestured wordlessly toward the elevators. Stella glowered and muttered something in Greek at him before following him into the elevators, which Mac ignored.

"All right," Stella said when they got outside, "You got me out here. What now?"

"Let's take a walk," Mac suggested. Together, they headed towards Central Park.

"We walking anywhere in particular?" Stella grumbled after a minute.

"Tell me everything you know about Patrick Andries that I haven't heard already," Mac said, ignoring her. Stella sighed.

"Patrick Andries was 34 years old and lived in a trailer park in western Louisiana until he was 9. His dad abandoned him and his mom when he was about four. His mom worked 3 jobs to keep him in the private school he went to until 8th grade, when his mom got promoted at one of her jobs and moved into New Orleans. When he was in high school, he took a biology class and realized that all he wanted to be was a forensic scientist. He studied his ass off and got into Louisiana State, where, his junior year, someone introduced him to Jack Daniels. By the time I met him, he was well on his way to becoming a raging alcoholic hick, although he kept all of that very well hidden. He tended to work hard and had a great sense of humor. He always kept things lively. When I got transferred to New Orleans, he was the first one to show me around. He was a very friendly face in an unfamiliar town.

"We worked well together, Patrick and me. He had an interesting system of setting things up, and he had a lot of plans for the New Orleans Crime Lab, but he didn't have any sense of organization. We started setting things up together, working late a lot of nights, putting in a ton of extra hours. He was becoming my second-in-command. He'd made it pretty clear when we started working together that he was interested in me, but I told him I had someone I was seeing back home."

"Why'd you tell him that?" Mac interrupted. Stella looked at him.

"I don't know," she said slowly after a moment, like she'd never given that thought before. She shook her head and continued on with her story.

"So he'd made it clear that he was interested, but I shut him down. I thought we'd come to a mutual agreement, and things became normal between us. Then things with the lab really started going. We started spending more and more time working together, and talking, too. He told me about how his dad left them and how he'd changed his name because 'any man that don't got the balls to stay with his wife ain't no father of mine or a real man, and I don't want his name or anythin' to do with him.' Eventually, I told him about you and the rest of the team, and I –I told him about Frankie. Even after all that time, it was still hard to talk about it. He saw that, and he comforted me. We'd been working for almost a year by then, and while I'd met some very nice people, none of them had been as nice as Patrick. I'd had a tough week and I was feeling particularly lonely. He was holding me, rocking me gently while I told him and when I told Patrick about how I'd –I'd had to shoot Frankie, I looked up at him and… and he was right there, and he kissed me.

"I had never been kissed the way he kissed me. He'd been sweet and patient and he cared about me, and I hadn't been with anyone, not since Frankie, and so when we kissed, all these feelings rose up inside me. I felt alive, more alive than I'd felt in years. And that's how I got involved with him. We were together for about six months. That was the happiest I have ever been In New Orleans, and I was happier than I had been in months," she admitted. She smiled faintly, and then her brow furrowed. She cleared her throat.

"After about six months, Patrick started acting uneasy. He would have to leave work early, he'd come late, he'd never work any longer than he absolutely had to. He started showing up after noon, hungover. His productivity became laughable. He started picking fights with everyone from me to Joe the Janitor. Finally I asked him what was up, and," Stella swallowed and closed her eyes like it pained her to speak, "He told me that he had a wife. A _wife_, Mac. I couldn't believe it. He said he'd been married for over two years and that his _wife_ was pregnant and wanted to move to Massachusetts to be closer to her _parents_ and that he was going to follow in a few more months while she found them a place to live. Well, he'd obviously never mentioned anything about having a wife to me, and he smelled like he'd just bathed in a bottle of 500-proof when he told me, so I did a background check." The corners of Stella's mouth turned down.

"There was no wife. He just lied to get out of the relationship. I reacted… badly. I screamed at him, called him all sorts of terrible names and told him he might as well just give me his two week's notice right there because if he thought I was going to work with someone who didn't have the balls to be honest with his boss, he was crazy. He got angry that I was threatening to fire him, and started yelling back at me. I don't remember what he said, and I don't care. I know I called him a lying, undesirable hick and a drunk, and that was when he tried to hit me." Stella smiled viciously, her eyes glinting dangerously.

"As you can probably imagine, I didn't take that very well. I subdued him, to say the least, and I had security escort him out of my lab. When I showed up at work the next day, I found Patrick drunk off his ass, sitting naked on my desk and puking on my case files. He got fired by the end of the week.

"Patrick was a lie. Everything he did, everything he said, everything we did was a lie. It was a good lie, though, and I ignored my conscience and my gut. I should have never trusted him, but he caught me when I was weak. He knew I was vulnerable and he used that to his advantage. But I used him, too. I thought he would make me happy." She looked up at Mac, whose face was carefully blank. "He didn't. He used me, and as childish and horrible as it sounds, I'm glad he's dead. He got what he deserved."

Mac was stunned. He had no words for her; no mumbling of condolence, no matter how heartfelt, would even begin to address the pain he knew she was feeling. He stopped walking –they were nearly where he wanted to go anyway –and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked down at it, almost warily.

"Stella," Mac's voice was quiet, but full of emotion, "I can't even imagine going through something that horrible, or even begin to comprehend what being used like that did to you. I know that 'I'm sorry' is just words, and words, even words spoken from the heart, can have no effect on your grief. I want to thank you, though, for telling me this, because now I understand why you reacted the way you did. I'm sorry that you took my actions to mean I was trying to take advantage of you the same way that Andries did. I regret not knowing this, and though I still don't regret kissing you, I regret the circumstances under which they took place. Thank you for telling me this, though, and I still maintain what I said before, that it won't happen again if you don't want it to." He put his other hand on her other shoulder. "Thank you for trusting me," he said, even more quietly than before, looking directly into her eyes.

Stella was unable to look away from Mac. His eyes captured her, pulled her into their depths. She saw the sincerity in his eyes and knew he meant what he'd said. She saw something else in his eyes, too, something she couldn't identify. Pain? Anger? She couldn't tell, but it compelled her to take a step forward. She became suddenly aware of Mac's hands, one of them sliding down her back, one drawing her ever closer to him. Her heart leapt into her throat and began dancing at a jittery, unsteady tempo. He was going to kiss her, she was almost sure, and she was going to let him—

Then, to her surprise, Mac's hand reached the nape of her neck and guided her head under his, and his other hand held her to him in a hug. Stella hugged him, trying not to feel her disappointment. She had, after all, told him that it couldn't happen again…

But she wanted it to. She was sure she'd never wanted anything more in her life than in that single moment. Every atom in her, every molecule, every single tiny fiber of her being was telling her to go for it. _Kiss him_! They seemed to cry in unison, _Take back what you said! Give in to your desire. You know you want to._

She couldn't. Every time she tried to waver, even imagined giving in, she was forcibly reminded of Patrick. She couldn't make that mistake again, couldn't undo what Patrick had done to her. Though it pained her to, she had to admit to herself that she wasn't—and maybe never would be—ready. So she hugged him instead, hugged him as tightly as she could, begging herself not to cry but feeling like her heart was breaking.

_I'm sorry,_ she thought desperately. _I'm sorry that I'm not strong enough to do this_.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Me again! Sorry it took so long, guys, I've been trying to put this up for a couple days now, but I just kept getting distracted. I also wanted to warn you guys now: I've got this written completely up until chapter 11, but after that, all I've got is a fragmented story line. That's why I've been leaving a lot of time in between updates. I'm trying to give myself the most amount of time possible. So after chapter 11, it's going to be even longer (unless, that is, I can piece the next few parts together. I'm working on it currently, and it's been good so far, so... fingers crossed). Just warning you guys. I'm working as fast as I can. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

><p>It was all over too soon for Mac. He wanted to hold her in his arms forever, her small frame against his, his arms encircling her lithe frame, the warmth of her body against his. The thought of never letting her go made him smile into her hair, and he involuntarily pressed his lips against the top of her head. He noticed in delight that she didn't recoil. After a moment, though, she withdrew her arms from around his chest and looked up at him, frustration clouding her features.<p>

"You are making this very hard on me," she accused reproachfully. Mac chuckled.

"Well," he said, rubbing her shoulder affectionately, "someone's making it hard, but it's not me. Come on, we're almost there." He turned 180 degrees and stepped off the beaten trail, leaving a slightly scowling Stella to catch up. They walked in silence for a few minutes more. Mac suddenly stopped, and Stella almost ran into him.

"What is this?" Stella said, looking around. They were standing in a small clearing in the trees that had bordered the path they had been taking. She briefly remembered passing the Central Park sign while she'd recounted her tale to Mac, and guessed they had been on some jogging trail.

"It's our primary crime scene, but other than that, I don't know," Mac said, looking around. The clearing was as nondescript as it had been when he last saw it. He pointed to the spot where they had found the broken cell phone.

"There was a broken cell phone there," he said, slowly recreating the scene in his mind. "There were signs of the vic being chased by someone in the groundcover around the clearing. And here," he said, walking back to where he'd found the postcard and picture, "Was where I found the picture of you and the postcard written in your blood. There was also a weak blood trail with directionality that lead away from the primary crime scene and suggesting that she was stabbed, but she continued to move around the clearing, slowly bleeding out. Then, for some reason, she managed to stumble out of the clearing, through the bushes, where she dropped the postcard and picture, and onto the trail, where she was found by the jogger and died."

"Did the other victims get chased, too, or were they just stabbed and left to wander?" Stella asked. Mac looked at her in surprise.

"No," he said slowly. "They weren't left to wander. They got stabbed and died where they were. That's why we didn't make the connection to the other killings until we'd processed the knife. They all showed signs of defensive wounds, but she was the only one that got far enough out of his way to run for it." Things began to fall into place, and Mac looked at Stella in amazement. "Stella, you're a genius. No one else ran. This guy has been attacking women, with Patrick as the only exception—" he broke off, looking at Stella in horror.

"What?" Stella asked. Mac continued to gape wordlessly at her.

"Mac, what is it?" Stella asked. Mac blinked. Abruptly, he strode forward and grabbed Stella's forearm.

"Come on," he said sharply. "We gotta get you back to the lab."

"Mac, what's going on?"

"Don't ask questions, don't talk. Keep your head down, and put your hair up in your hat, now," Mac ordered. She did as he asked and he put his arm around her. They moved swiftly, Stella confused, Mac alert and wary. He got out his gun and kept it ready. They made it back to the lab in record time. When they were finally in the building, Mac took his arm back.

"What the hell was that, Mac?" Stella demanded. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," Mac muttered. "Yet. Come on." He headed towards the elevator, dragging Stella with him; he'd taken hold of her arm again. The ride up was spent in tense silence. When the elevator reached the 35th floor, Mac forced his way out of the elevator and almost ran to his office, Stella behind him. Mac quickly pulled all the pictures of the serial killer victims, including Andries. He lined them up next to each other. He looked from the pictures to Stella and back again, then suddenly swore so loudly Stella jumped.

"Jesus, Mac, what's going…" her voice trailed off as she noticed it too: every single woman had brown, curly hair, blue-green eyes, and high cheekbones.

"They all look like me," Stella whispered. Mac looked at her again, a tortured look in his eyes.

"Yes," he said in a deadly quiet voice. "They all look like you." Stella wasn't listening; she was staring, pale-faced, at the women in the pictures.

"What if I'm next?" Stella said quietly, still looking at the pictures. In two strides, Mac had crossed the room. He held Stella to his chest protectively.

"They aren't going to get to you," Mac whispered fiercely into her ear. "I will keep you safe if it's the last thing I do."

Stella began to shake. It was almost too much to handle.

"I-I think I need to sit down," she said unsteadily. Mac led her to a chair and she collapsed into it. He knelt down in front of her, looking her squarely in the eye.

"Listen to me," Mac said seriously. "I will not let this person get to you. I care about you, very deeply, and you are not going to end up like these women. I promise that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. I will become your personal bodyguard if that's what needs to happen. More importantly, I will not rest until you are safe, until the person responsible for these deaths is in custody. Do you understand?"

Stella nodded, struggling to keep her face blank. Inside, she felt like she was going to spontaneously combust and implode simultaneously. She could hardly breathe. She had only been this terrified one time in her life: the night she'd killed Frankie. Emotions coursed through her faster than she could recognize them, all tainted with fear. She shuddered and then began to shake violently, unable to control her fear. It _was_ too much to handle. Mac noticed and brought her close to him again. She was glad; for some reason, she felt safe in his arms. She knew that she needed to step back and analyze her feelings, compartmentalize and organize, give in to her inner scientist until wild, emotional Stella had been broken down into manageable parts, but she couldn't. Wild, emotional Stella had somehow taken control, and she refused to be compartmentalized. The scientist in her had stepped out temporarily, and forgotten how to get back in. Stella's breathing became sharp gasps. She… the room spun.

Mac let go of her and looked down into her eyes. She tried to look at him, but Mac had somehow cloned himself, and now six Macs stared down at her in apprehension.

"Stella?" they asked in unison, echoing and sounding very far away. "Are you okay?" Stella blinked as they swam before her, making it hard to focus on the real Mac, whichever one he was…

"Mac?" she heard herself murmur. She was very dizzy and her heart was beating wildly in her chest. She closed her eyes, and again, Mac's voice echoed down from above her.

"Stella?" her name reverberated several times. She shook her head.

"Shhhh…" she heard herself say. There was a sudden sensation of a light switch being flipped, and everything was still.

Back in the real world, Mac watched Stella with growing concern as she hyperventilated.

"Stella? Are you okay?" he asked. She looked up at him blearily and muttered something unintelligible.

"Stella?" Mac asked. She murmured something else as her eyes fluttered closed. Then she went limp in his arms as she passed out. Mac picked her up out of the chair with some alarm and laid her flat on his office floor. He gently touched her neck… yes, she had a pulse. It was steady and strong. He lifted one of her eyelids. Stella's eyes had rolled gently back into her head.

"Stella?" Mac said angrily. She didn't respond. He looked up and saw Hawkes walking down the hallway. He pulled the door open.

"Hawkes," he said sharply. "I need you." Hawkes nodded and walked in. he stopped short when he saw Stella lying on the floor.

"Oh my God, is she…?" he knelt down next to her as his doctor instincts kicked in.

"I don't know. She hyperventilated and passed out. What's wrong with her?" he demanded.

"She's in shock, Mac," Hawkes explained after a moment. "She'll be fine."

Mac glowered at her scarily still form, his heart racing. "She better be."

"Trust me, Mac," Hawkes said evenly. He eyed Mac suspiciously. "Is everything all right?" Mac shook his head.

"What's going on?" Hawkes said immediately. "Something on the case?" Mac nodded. "What?"

Mac stood up and beckoned the young doctor over to where the photos of the victims were still on the wall, glaring down at them.

"Look," Mac said. "What do you see?"

Hawkes studied the pictures closely. After a minute, he inhaled sharply.

"Oh, my god," he said. "Why didn't I notice that before?" he groaned and turned away from the pictures, as if doing so would somehow change the truth. He looked at Stella. "She could be in danger," he said. "Who knows what could have happened to her?"

"Or what could happen to her," Mac agreed darkly. He was also staring at Stella's still form, lying on the floor in his office. He was unable to stop himself from picturing her, lying on the ground, a knife in her chest, lying in a pool of blood. He shuddered at the thought. Hawkes looked at him.

"There's something else going on here, isn't there?" he said slowly. Mac turned away. He suddenly wished he could tell someone what had happened between him and Stella; he'd always had Stella for that before. However, he was a private man. He could deal with it. He arranged his features into an unreadable mask and turned around. "I'm fine," he said unemotionally. Hawkes didn't look convinced, but he let the matter drop.

"How many people know about this?" he said, gesturing at the pictures.

"Not including the killer himself? Only three, and one of them is unconscious," he said, pointing at Stella. "I just figured it out."

"When are you going to tell everyone?"

"As soon as Stella, uh, regains consciousness." As if on cue, Stella groaned. Mac immediately looked over at her, his brow knitted in worry, but she mumbled something and was silent again. Mac looked back to Sheldon, who was looking suspicious again. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mac cut him off. "I'm fine," he said shortly. "Get back to work. I'll wait here for Stella. But I think she needs a blanket or something, right?"

"I've got an emergency blanket in my locker," Hawkes said immediately. Mac nodded. Hawkes moved quickly; he returned with a blanket, which he covered Stella with. Mac dragged the chair she'd been sitting on over to her feet and propped them up.

"Thanks, Sheldon," Mac said.

"No problem," Hawkes said. "Let me know when she wakes up, I want to examine her."

Mac nodded absently. He was kneeling next to Stella, looking down at her, the worry clear on his face. Hawkes smirked and left the office, shaking his head. Mac paid no attention to him. He only had eyes for Stella. He watched her brow furrow as if she were thinking hard. He knew she was about to regain consciousness, but still, he wondered what she had been thinking about. Presently, her eyes fluttered open. She blinked a few times.

"Mac?" she said softly. Mac smiled.

"Hey," he said gently. "How you feeling?"

"Ugh," she groaned. "I feel like crap." She looked around. "Why am I on your floor?"

"What do you remember?" Mac asked. Stella frowned.

"Well," she said, sitting up slowly, "I remember going for a walk and telling you about Patrick, then checking out the crime scene. Then you grabbed me and hauled ass back to the lab, where you realized… you realized…" her eyes widened. "I'm in danger, aren't I? That serial killer, he's after people that look like me."

"It appears that way, yes," Mac said grimly. Stella's frown deepened.

"We have to tell the others, don't we?" Mac nodded again. Stella closed her eyes. She felt like the floor had just dropped out from underneath her. She stood up suddenly, and her head spun. Mac caught her just in time. She looked up at him and saw three Macs again. She closed her eyes momentarily, and when she opened her eyes again, there was only one Mac. She smiled dizzily. "There you go," she said. "Just one."

"What?" Mac said confusedly. Stella shook her head. "Never mind," she said quickly. She stood up on her own feet and stepped back from Mac quickly. She smiled at him.

"All right, let's get this over with," she said. She snuck a look at the pictures of the other… victims and sighed. She had a deep, nagging fear that before she and Mac had closed the case, someone was going to do their best to get her to join the other women on that wall.

Mac had followed her gaze and put his hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

"Come on," he said quietly. She turned and faced him. He smiled encouragingly, trying (but not completely succeeding) to hide the worry that she knew mirrored her own eyes. As they walked out of the office together, Mac's hand moved from her shoulder to the small of her back, like a security guard. Stella immediately felt safer. She and Mac went through the lab, calling out to the members of their team. They met in the conference room.

"Okay," Mac said once they had everyone. He stood, of course, at the head of the room. Lindsay and Danny were off to his left, and Sheldon and Adam were on his right. Stella sat in the chair in front of him, her arms crossed, trying to appear as brave as Mac. She noticed Sheldon kept throwing furtive glances at her, and she wondered if he knew what had happened in Mac's office. Hawkes leaned towards her like he was going to ask her something, but just then, Mac cleared his throat. Hawkes leaned back, looking disappointed.

"We have a new lead in the serial killer case," Mac began. "All the evidence we have at this time indicates that the serial killer is targeting women with curly brown hair, blue eyes, long noses and high cheekbones." He looked around at his team. When he caught Hawkes's eye, he nodded solemnly. The rest of the team stared back at him. Lindsay was the first person to understand.

"Oh. _Oh._ Oh, no," she said, her eyes widening as she looked first at Stella, then at Mac. "You have got to be kidding me." Mac nodded gravely and Lindsay shook her head, looking appalled. "He can't be."

"Who?" Danny asked, glancing over at his wife, who looked furious. He followed her gaze and he understood, too.

"It's not gonna happen," Danny said darkly, standing up. Throughout all this, Adam was looking at Stella. His eyes never once left her face. She looked up, noticed him staring, and nodded once tersely. Adam's eyes widened like Lindsay's, and he stood up like Danny.

"Whoever they are, they won't touch you," he promised. Danny looked across the table at his younger colleague and snorted.

"And you're gonna stop him how?" he asked sarcastically. Adam looked at Danny, turning slightly red.

"Danny." Mac said his name quietly, but Danny responded like it was an order.

"Sorry," he said immediately. He began to pace the conference room anxiously.

"We are all working this case," Mac continued as if there hadn't been an interruption. "Anything and everything goes to the bottom of the pile until the case is closed." His face darkened, and Stella was struck by how deadly he looked. "This guy is threatening one of our own, and there is nothing more important than finding him, understand?" They all nodded, even Stella. He turned to Danny.

"Danny, pull everything you can on those cases. We need more connections than just the way they looked and the way they died. See if he made any mistakes." Danny nodded and left the room. "Lindsay, I want you to process the knife. See if the killer left any trace of himself behind." Lindsay nodded and followed Danny. He looked at Adam. "Adam, you're on clothes. Process everything the victims wore. Look for any trace, any foreign fibers, anything that might point us in the right direction." Adam nodded and, with one last look at Stella, made a hasty exit. Finally, Mac looked at Sheldon. "Hawkes, I need you to work with Danny. Go through the victims' backgrounds, apartments, cell phone and credit card records, anything that provides a connection. First, however, I need you to examine Stella." Stella threw Mac a dirty look and waved him off.

"I'm fine, Sheldon," she said. Mac shook his head.

"No, you are going to get examined," he said firmly. "You went into shock in my office and passed out on my floor, you are going to be examined. You're not going back to work until Hawkes says you're okay."

"Fine," she said. She turned her back on Mac and looked at Sheldon. "Hey, Doc, make it fast, okay?" she asked. "I want to catch this guy."

"Sure," Hawkes chuckled. He felt her pulse, looked in her eyes, and heard her breathing, while Mac stood by, watching. After checking her balance and her blood pressure, he declared her fine and left, smirking slightly.

"I told you," Stella pouted. Mac smiled, trying to hide his amusement.

"I'd rather be safe than sorry," he said simply.

"Uh-huh," Stella returned. "What do you want me to do?"

"You're with me," Mac said. "We're going to go through Dawson Jones's history. And I still want to know why Andries wrote that postcard to him in your blood."

Stella nodded. "I'll get on the phone with the people back in New Orleans," she said. "They have the file on Jones."

"Yeah, do that," Mac said. "Could you see if you could get me the file they had on Andries, too?" she nodded and turned to leave, but Mac caught her arm.

"Just one more thing," Mac said quietly.

"Yeah?" Stella asked. Mac kissed her gently once on the cheek and pulled her into a hug. "I'm glad you're okay," he said quietly into her ear. He smiled to himself as they broke apart.

"You ready?" Mac asked, acting as if nothing had happened. Stella nodded mutely, looking surprised.

"All right then," Mac said, suddenly businesslike. "Let's get to it."


	10. Chapter 10

"Hey, Stella?" a voice said a few hours later. Stella looked up to see a woman with dark hair, pale skin, and kind eyes looking down at her.

"Yes," she said cautiously. "Do I know you?"

The woman's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said immediately. "We met earlier. I'm Jo."

"That's right," Stella replied with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I forgot. How can I help you?"

"I come with an offer and a question," Jo said. "Which would you like first?"

"The offer," Stella said wryly.

"Okay then," Jo said. "I'm going out of town for a few days, and I'd like to offer my desk to you. It can't be easy, working out of a corner of the break room," she said gesturing around to Stella's piles and general disarray. "And I figured since I'm not using it, maybe you'd like to."

"Sure," Stella said gratefully. "I'd appreciate it."

"Okay, then," Jo said with a smile. "It's just in there, in the corner." she pointed in the direction of Stella's old office. Stella raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.

"Thanks," she said instead, smiling appreciatively. Jo returned her smile easily.

"You had a question?" Stella asked after a second. Jo nodded hesitantly.

"Well, I—" she was saved by Mac entering the room, looking slightly worried.

"Stella! Thank god. Why isn't your phone…" he trailed off, looking from Jo to Stella. His face went blank as he raised his eyebrows. "What's goin' on here?" he said casually. Stella narrowed her eyes slightly, noticing the change, but she laughed airily.

"Oh, you know, just plotting against you," she said with a smile. Mac grinned at her benevolently, though his eyes flicked quickly to Jo right after he did so. He cleared his throat. Jo watched the two of them, her head tilted to the side just slightly, her face expressionless except for her eyes, which glinted with curiosity.

"Should I be worried?" he asked casually. His eyes flicked to Jo again as he spoke. Stella noticed, and her eyes narrowed again.

"I don't know, Jo, should he be worried?" she asked Jo casually, her eyes on Mac. _Flick_. Mac's eyes flickered over to Jo again, and Stella looked at Jo, too, whose face was expressionless as she met Stella's scrutiny. She looked over at Mac and smiled blankly.

"Only if he thinks he needs to be," she said cheerily. Mac looked at Stella, but she was carefully hidden behind her poker face. Jo looked at the two of them, and Mac, feeling her scrutiny, looked over at her again. For a moment, he thought he saw her eyebrows jump up, as if she'd realized something, but when he looked again it was gone, taking with it the curiosity from her eyes.

"Don't let me interrupt," Mac said. He respectfully took a few steps back and gestured that they should finish their conversation, but Jo shook her head.

"Oh, don't bother," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I think you already answered my question, Stella." She looked at Mac. "You know, I think I should leave now," she said tonelessly. "I have to pack, you know…" she let her voice trail off. Mac gave her a long, hard look.

"Yeah, you should probably do that," he said slowly. "Have fun on your, uh, trip."

"I will," Jo deadpanned. Mac smiled tightly.

"It was nice meeting you, Stella," Jo said, sticking out her hand.

"Likewise," Stella said. She shook hands with Jo and smiled. "And thanks for the desk," she added. Jo nodded. She walked over and hugged Mac, then kissed him lightly on the cheek. Mac stiffened, and his eyes widened ever so slightly. Then Jo turned her back on them both and walked out of the room purposefully. She'd seen the way those two had looked at each other. She noticed Mac's stiffening, and his clear discomfort when she'd kissed him on the cheek. She'd seen the worry on Mac's face as he'd walked in, asking where Stella was. All these things added up in her head, leading her to one conclusion: those two were involved, and it went back, farther back than she and Mac had. Jo sighed and decided to wash her hands of the matter. She had other things to worry about.

Behind her, Stella stared at her retreating back, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She shook her head and looked at Mac.

"What did you need?" she asked him coldly.

"Um, I called you a few times, but your phone is off. I was worried," he said with an air of casualness. Stella snorted.

"You don't need to worry about me," she said sharply. "I'm fine, obviously. What did you need?"

"How far have you gotten on the Dawson Jones lead?"

"Well, I called down to my office in New Orleans, and they said they'd send me the full report," Stella began. "I also got the Andries file for you, if you want it." Mac nodded. "That'll make for some interesting reading, I'm sure," he said wryly. "What else have you got?"

"The boxes of evidence from those cases are en route, but it'll take a few days. The files should be here any second." She checked something on her computer and then nodded. "Yeah, here they are."

"Good," Mac said. "Forward them to Danny and me. Anything else?" Stella regarded him stonily for a second.

"Nope, that's it," she said acidly. Mac paused.

"You sure?" he asked. She nodded her head jerkily and bent down to pick up some files, purposely avoiding his eyes. Mac recognized the dismissal and left, shaking his head. Stella continued to stare at the floor as she packed up her files, getting ready to move to her—Jo's office. She felt betrayed, lied to. He hadn't mentioned anything about Jo, except in passing; certainly nothing to suggest that they were anything more than coworkers. If he'd even mentioned anything about her… it was like finding out that Patrick had had a wife all over again, except this time it was real. She swallowed hard. Mac was no different than Patrick. So she put him out of her mind and moved her things to Jo's office. To her relief, not much had changed. She sat down and returned to work.

Mac felt guilty. He knew Stella had figured out what was going on with him and Jo, and Jo had probably already guessed his feelings for Stella. But while Jo had been accepting, Stella had stared at him as though he'd betrayed her. He'd wanted to explain, to deny that he had any feelings for Jo, and tell her that he only loved her, but Stella hadn't appeared as if she was in the mood to talk to him. He resolved to talk to her that night, to explain. His conscience temporarily assuaged, he returned to work.

XXXXX

"I hate New Orleans," Danny growled to himself. Hawkes looked up from the case file he was reading.

"Why?"

"All three of these victims were found with sand from the Gulf on their clothes, along with gravel from an undetermined source, but they know it was somewhere in New Orleans because there was floodwater residue from Katrina."

"How is the residue still on there? And how did they know it was from Katrina? That makes no sense," Hawkes said. Danny nodded.

"I know, Doc. I don't get it either. The best I can guess as to why it was still on the gravel, though, is that the gravel was in someplace that wasn't exposed to the elements."

"So like, a house that hasn't been opened up yet?" Hawkes suggested. Danny nodded.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, that would make sense. Still doesn't explain why anyone would be in there, though, or how they knew it was from Katrina and not, I don't know, a basement flooding or something."

Hawkes looked at Danny, a mixture of amusement and incredulity on his face.

"Danny."

"What?"

"They don't have basements in New Orleans."

"Right, right, but you know what I mean. Maybe inside a house?"

"It's possible," Hawkes agreed. A machine beeped behind him, and he turned around.

"Analysis on your Trace from the first New York victim is back," he said to Danny. "Apparently, it's gravel."

"Yeah? Same as the New Orleans victims. So what?"

"Nope," Hawkes said. "It came back to a different kind of gravel, not the same composition. This gravel is more consistent with gravel found… here, actually."

"New York gravel?" Danny asked. "So the killer is staying in the same type of place here as he was in New Orleans?"

"Maybe." Hawkes looked down at the case he was studying again. "Guess we'll have to find out."

XXXXX

A few rooms down, Lindsay was staring down the knife. She narrowed her eyes at it. It looked innocent enough, fairly commonplace; it could have been purchased at any hunting store. The blade was 17 cm long, single-edged, non-serrated, and composed of surgical steel. It had a 12 cm long black handle. The blade was bloody, having been retrieved from the chest of Liza Johnson, but there were microscopic traces of blood from the other victims at the hilt. Lindsay sighed; other than the blood, the knife looked pristine. She took it out of its evidence bag and set it out on the table. She then began to look at it under a magnifying glass, hoping to find even the slightest trace of the killer. She found several smudges, but there wasn't enough detail to bother dusting for prints. She swabbed the handle and found epithelials, but they didn't look promising. She sent it up to DNA for analysis, then looked back at the knife and sighed. There was nothing else on that knife. The blade looked brand-new, there were no gouges in the handle, nothing to suggest that it had done anything since coming out of its case except stab seven people.

"Yeah, except stab seven people," she muttered, staring down at the knife. She groaned, and someone behind her chuckled warmly.

"That knife giving you trouble, Lindsay?" Mac asked. Lindsay turned around.

"I wish, because at least then it would be giving me _something_," she said. "The only thing I got off of it was epithelials. There are no fibers, no scratches, no fingerprints, nothing."

Mac raised his eyebrow at her. "Nothing? Aren't there epithelials?"

"Yeah. But there were only smudges, and the way they're positioned suggests that the epithelials will come back to the vic, like she grabbed the knife as she died," Lindsay explained. She shook her head. "Other than that, nothing. The knife could have been purchased anywhere, either in New Orleans or here, and there are no defining characteristics to specify any manufacturer."

"Well, it's better than we were doing before. Good job," he said. "Let me know the results when you get them."

Lindsay nodded. "Yeah, but don't expect that call anytime soon, though, okay?" she called as he walked down the hallway. He nodded to show that he heard. Lindsay turned back to the knife.

"You have secrets," she said to the knife. "I will find them. I will figure out what you are hiding. I will figure out who used you, and they will not kill anyone else," she vowed.

XXXXX

Adam was not having a good day. In fact, he was having a horrible _week_, now that he thought about it. First he couldn't read the postcard, then he found out that Stella might be a serial killer's next victim, and now he was stuck with the clothes of three dead women. The clothes were lousy with Trace: dirt, food stains, beverage stains, random animal hairs, fibers from god-knows-what everywhere, and hairs from at least three different people on each woman. He documented everything, ran samples of the stains, identified the animal hairs (turns out one of the women was well on her way to becoming a crazy cat lady; he identified at least seven different cats), and nothing came back with anything definitive. The only Trace the three women had in common was some sort of gravel, and minute traces of sand. He was seriously considering giving up when he remembered Patrick Andries' clothes. He shed his lab coat and gloves excitedly and left to go to evidence lockup.

XXXXX

Mac's brow was furrowed as he read the file on Dawson Jones. There were plenty of charges of petty theft, drunk and disorderly, vandalism, and assault, but there was nothing in his file to indicate that he was a serial killer, or that he was capable of killing anyone. It didn't make sense. He shook his head, feeling like he was missing something. there was something that didn't fit. He looked up at his wall, where the victims stared down at him, imploring him to figure it out. He looked at each of them individually, trying not to see their similarities with Stella. His eyes flitted to Andries. There was something wrong with that.

Andries wasn't a woman who looked like Stella.

What was he doing on that wall?

"His blood was on the knife," Mac muttered. "Why did you die?" he shook his head slowly, his eyes narrowed in concentration. His phone rang, shaking Mac out of his reverie. He strode over to his office, unwilling to turn his back on the victims for long.

"Taylor."

"Mac, its Flack. I got a hit on the BOLO you put out on Dawson Jones. Some guy saw him in a bar in Midtown."

"All right, good, let's move." He hung up, his heart beating a little bit faster. He dialed Danny's number.

"Danny," he said into the phone. "We got a hit on the BOLO for Dawson Jones. You coming? Good. Meet me in the garage in 5." He hung up again, feeling a thrill of anticipation. Maybe, finally, there'd be some answers.


	11. Chapter 11

The bartender looked over at him nervously, but he ignored him. The guy was almost famous for his nervousness, to the point that some of the patrons had taken to calling him Twitchy. Twitchy had been cleaning the same glass for about a minute, almost absent-mindedly, and kept flicking glances over at him.

He didn't have time to worry about Twitchy. He was enjoying his freedom. He had been working for almost six months straight, learning the tricks of the trade from the master. He took a swig from his glass of bourbon and grimaced as the liquor stung his throat. He kept his eyes on the pitted wood bar counter, absently playing with his coaster. He sat alone at the bar, alone in the bar except for Twitchy. His back was to the door, but he could see the people on the street passing by, reflected off the trophy case behind the bar. He kept his eyes watching for more practice, but he found none. It didn't surprise him; his master had a very specific type, and that type was very hard to find. He took another sip of his drink and grimaced again, enjoying the alcohol that was pumping in his veins despite the pain. The pain made him more aware, and he realized that there were no longer people walking past the bar window, which made no sense. He cocked an ear to listen. There were no cars whizzing by, either. Suddenly, he was alert.

Something was going down. His hand went automatically to the knife at his hip. He looked around for the bartender, but he, too, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there were two cops sneaking in through the back door. He looked at the cop leading, who had his gun trained very steadily on his heart.

"Dawson Jones!" the cop said clearly. "NYPD! Don't move!"

Dawson Jones snorted, eyeing the door. There was no need for him to announce who he was; it was fairly obvious. What wasn't obvious, though, was whether he could make it to the door before someone got the jump on him. He decided to risk it and flipped his chair. He ran for the door, knocking down stools and tables to catch up the cops. Both of them managed to dodge the tables and chairs, but they couldn't reach him. He made it to the door; he could practically taste his freedom. With a victorious half-shout, he pulled open the door and ran out. There was another cop working his way around to the front to the alley, but Jones only caught a glimpse of him as he ran by the mouth of the alley. His feet pounded the pavement as he dodged people. He could hear the cop a few yards behind him, gaining speed slowly and yelling "NYPD! Stop!"

He ran faster, shoving people out of the way. There was no way he was going to get caught; he was too fast. However, the cop still seemed to be gaining. In desperation, he turned down an alley. Without people as obstacles, he could run faster. Somehow, the cop was still following him. He scrambled over a fence and continued to run. The cop cleared the fence almost as quickly as Jones had, and Jones knew that if he was slowed down again, he would be caught. So he rounded the corner and dove into a group of people.

He slowed to a casual walk, tried to control his breathing, make it look like he hadn't been running. The cop skidded around the corner, looking for him. He almost jumped and gave away his position, but he forced himself to remain looking as calm as he could. The cop looked around and swore. Moments later, the other cop joined him. He asked him something, probably if he'd seen him, and the other cop shook his head, looking pissed. They headed back down the alley, and Jones grinned.

_That's right, turn around. You can't catch me. No one can_, he thought triumphantly. He looked around once more, and realized that the third cop was standing less than twenty feet away from him. Jones hadn't been paying attention to the third cop. He was older than the other two, and had been behind the first cop. He scanned the crowd critically, and it looked for a second like Jones had been caught, but the cop's eyes slid right over him.

_Just keep looking_, he thought. The cop, apparently finding nothing out of place, turned and followed his colleagues, looking disappointed. Jones smiled to himself. He was safe. He couldn't return to the bar, but he was safe.

For now. The cops knew his name. That was bad. He needed to let his master know. He pulled out his cell phone and turned it on. There was only one number in the memory. He dialed it, and his master answered on the first ring.

"Speak," the voice ordered coldly. Jones shivered. His master's voice was deep and gravelly, biting with years of anger and disappointment.

"Master," Jones muttered into the phone. "The cops found me. I—"

"What?" his master's voice became dangerously soft, and Jones flinched. "Do they have you now?"

"No," Jones said quickly. "I lost them, but they know my name. They ambushed me at the bar."

"They got too close. Return." The line went dead and Jones sighed. He knew that this meant he would not be leaving again for a long time. _Oh, well_, he thought. _It was nice while it lasted_.

XXXXX

Stella was ready to concede defeat when her phone rang. She had read Dawson Jones' file over at least ten times, each time learning nothing. Her mind kept trying to stray to Mac, and she was slowly wearing down. The sleepless night hadn't helped much, either. So when her phone rang, and she saw that it was Mac, she answered it without thought, glad for the distraction, even in the form that it came.

"Bonasera," she answered as coolly as possible. She wasn't sure she'd succeeded, but Mac's hesitation sounded promising.

"Stella?" Mac sounded surprised, like he hadn't expected her to answer.

"Nope, wrong number. Sorry."

Mac laughed uneasily.

"Did you get Jones?" she asked. Mac hesitated again, and Stella's heart sank. She knew what the answer would be before he said it.

"No."

"Then why did you call?" Stella asked.

"I was wondering if we could talk," he said tentatively.

"We're talking right now," Stella pointed out impassively.

"Not like that, Stella," Mac said tensely.

"No," Stella said flatly. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes there is, Stella," Mac replied. "I owe you an explanation."

"Nothing to explain, nothing to talk about," Stella repeated. "Just drop it, okay?"

"I—fine." Mac didn't want to argue with her. It would only make things worse. "Where are you on Jones's history?"

"There's nothing to suggest he's a serial killer," Stella said. "Nothing in his personal history that would suggest he's anything but a petty thief. I don't get it."

"Neither do I," Mac said. "We'll figure it out."

"We better," Stella said darkly. Mac chuckled gently.

"I promise."

"Good," Stella said. She watched as Lindsay walked by quickly, looking for someone.

"Is there anything else you need?" Stella asked unceremoniously. She turned her back to the door and began typing on her laptop.

"Not really," Mac said. "Except… Stella, I don't really want you going anywhere alone, okay?"

"You don't need to be worried about—"

"Well, I am, okay? Just promise me," Mac snapped.

"Okay, sure, Mac, I promise," Stella said, surprised.

"Thank you," Mac said curtly. "I'll see you back at the lab."

"Okay. Bye, Mac. Mac?" Stella looked at her phone. Mac had hung up.

"That was rude," Stella muttered, shaking her head.

"What, did he hang up on you? Yeah, he's been doing that a lot lately," someone said from behind her. She turned. It was Lindsay.

"That's rude," Stella repeated. Lindsay shrugged.

"He's been doing it ever since… uh…" she trailed off, absently rubbing her stomach. "So DNA came back from the epithelials on the knife," she said quickly.

"Did they match Dawson Jones?" Stella asked.

"No," Lindsay said. "I mean, yes, some of them did, but most came back to the vic, and some came back to an unknown male donor.

"What?" Stella exclaimed. "Any hits in CODIS?"

"I'm running them now," Lindsay replied. "I've also been working on identifying a manufacturer of the knife."

"Any results?"

"Yeah, the knife was purchased at a sporting goods store on 187th. I was about to go check it out. Want to come with?"

"I'd love to," Stella said, standing up. Then she remembered her promise to Mac and sank back down in her chair, disappointed. "But I can't."

"Why not?" Lindsay asked curiously.

"I promised Mac that I wouldn't go anywhere alone until we got the guy who's doing this," Stella explained.

"Well, what am I?" Lindsay asked indignantly.

"Pregnant," Stella said pointedly. "And I'm not going to endanger you and your baby. I don't need to go out _that_ badly."

"Oh. Okay, then. I can live with that. That sucks, though," Lindsay said, her hands on her stomach.

"Yeah," Stella agreed, sighing in frustration. "Dammit, Mac!" she added ruefully.

"He's only trying to keep you safe," Lindsay said soothingly.

"Yeah, I know, but I can take care of myself," Stella said defensively. "He doesn't need to be worried."

Lindsay looked across the desk at her friend, suspicion clear on her face.

"You know he's gonna be worried about you, Stella. He cares about you; that 's how he is." Lindsay didn't miss the way Stella jerked and shot a quick glance at her use of the word _care_, but she pretended she had. "He takes care of his people. He's going to be protective." Stella cast a guilty glance around the room and nodded, not meeting Lindsay's eyes. Lindsay narrowed her eyes slightly as Stella looked down at the desk, determined to not look up. Lindsay couldn't resist.

"Stella, did something happen with you and Mac?" she asked, leaning forward eagerly. Stella froze.

"Uh, no," she said quickly. "Why?"

"Uh-huh," Lindsay said knowingly. "Did you sleep with him?"

"What? No!" Stella yelped.

"Well, what happened then?"

"Nothing happened, Lindsay," Stella said.

"Oh, well, if you're sure…" Lindsay said, an omniscient grin lighting up her features. "I better go. I've work to do." She walked to the door and paused.

"You know, you and Mac would go well together," she said casually. Stella rolled her eyes and Lindsay laughed gently.

"I'm just sayin', you two have chemistry," Lindsay teased.

"The only chemistry in the room is you and your pregnancy hormones making you all loopy," Stella shot back, laughing dismissively, though to Lindsay it sounded forced. "Get back to work, you crazy pregnant woman," Stella said, not unkindly. Lindsay shook her head and walked out, smiling slightly. Stella shook her head too as she returned to work. _Silly pregnant woman_, she thought to herself, a small smile on her lips.

XXXXX

A few miles away, Dawson Jones was dealing with the wrath of his master.

"They almost found you," he snapped coldly. His master sat in a high-backed desk chair with his back to him, the back of the chair obscuring everything but clearly muscled, well-defined arms.

"I'm sorry," he murmured docilely.

"I don't want to hear your apologies," his master snapped. "I want to hear your results. What have you found out about her?" Jones cringed. He hated to hear the anger in his master's voice, but he knew he deserved it.

"I have no record of where she's staying, Master. She's not in any hotels. However, she's definitely in New York again," he recited obediently. His master made a noise that was almost like a growl.

"Is that it?" he asked icily. Jones flinched.

"Y-yes," he said apologetically. He heard his master beat his fists against the arms of the chair.

"Dammit, that's nothing! I can't find her with that," he snarled. "I can't find anything with that! You incompetent fool! I should dispose of you, just as I did with the last one!"

"No, Master, please," Jones pleaded. "I will find something on her. I will do better."

"You better," his master said threateningly. "If you cannot bring her to me by next week, I will ensure that no one ever hears from you again! _Do you understand me_?"

"Yes, Master," Jones whispered fearfully.

"Leave," his master ordered. "Find her."

Jones nodded, and with one final "Yes, Master," he backed out of his master's quarters.

XXXXX

The rest of the day went by tensely. None of the leads the Detectives worked on panned out. Mac and Danny returned, looking forlorn and frustrated. Mac tried, unsuccessfully, to find Stella and talk to her, but every time he tried, he seemed to always catch her leaving her office or going to check up on Adam or Lindsay or Danny. Mac was frustrated because he knew that she wasn't actually going to check on any of them, but he let it go.

_Later,_ he thought to himself every time she waved him off. _We'll do this later_.

It was a long day.

The ride home that night was painfully silent. Mac didn't even bother with polite conversation because he knew it would make things worse, so they drove in silence. Occasionally, Mac would sneak a look over at Stella, each time he seeing the same thing: Stella staring stonily ahead, her jaw set angrily, not talking to him and certainly not looking at him. Each time he bit back a sigh of frustration or a bitter remark that sat on his tongue and left a foul taste in his mouth. He pulled into his parking space and put the car in park.

"Stella, listen," he began, but in some superhuman feat (or simply because Mac hadn't been paying too close attention), Stella had already gotten out of the car and was three steps ahead of him, heading for the front door. Mac sighed and got out of the car. He took his time walking up to the door, where Stella stood, shivering and looking irritated.

"Hurry up, will you? It's freezing out here," she spat. Mac allowed himself a small smile.

"Really?" he said innocently. "It feels like just another New York night to me." He unlocked the door and held the door open for her, but she had already shoved past him, muttering something about "bastards who took advantage of people living in warmer climates." Mac chuckled as the door shut and locked behind him. Stella led the way to his door, always two feet ahead of him, and stood waiting while he unlocked it again. He held the door open for her again, and she stalked by. Mac smiled to himself as he shut the door to his apartment.

"You want to use the bathroom first again?" Mac offered as he put both their coats away.

"Uh, okay," she said coldly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he returned. He didn't look at her as she gathered her things, but went into the kitchen until he heard the bathroom door shut. Then he walked back into the living room, sat down on the couch that was Stella's bed, and waited. Presently, he heard the door of the bathroom open and shut, and saw Stella walking out of his bedroom. She stopped short when she saw him sitting there, and her face became stone.

"Stella, we need to talk," Mac said. Stella shook her head.

"No, we don't."

"I think we do."

"I told you already, there's nothing to talk about," Stella said flatly.

"Yes there is," Mac disagreed. "I owe you an explanation."

"You don't _owe_ me _anything_," said Stella icily. She stalked over to her suitcase and stuffed her things in unceremoniously.

"I should explain—"

"There's no need to explain, okay?" Stella said, her voice rising in pitch.

"There is," Mac disagreed quietly.

"No, Mac, there's not. We don't need to talk, you don't need to explain, and I want to go to bed, so why don't you just drop it, okay?"

"Fine, then. I don't need to explain; I want to." Mac said stubbornly. Stella rolled her eyes.

"Well, I _don't_ want you to. Let it go."

"No." he stood up and turned around so he could look her in the eye. She moved around to keep the couch between them. Mac snorted.

"I'm not going to attack you, Stella."

"That's good to know. Can I go to sleep now?"

"Stella, ever since this afternoon, you've been cold-shouldering me," Mac began, ignoring her question. "You were my partner for a long time, and we've been friends for years; I know when you're angry at me. If you have a problem with me, just say it."

"There's nothing to say."

"Clearly, there is, so why don't you cut the crap and tell me what's bothering you?"

"What happened to your 'explanation'?" Stella sneered.

Mac showed his teeth in a smile that wasn't really a smile, but a challenge.

"You first."

Everything, everything Stella had stored away so carefully, went tumbling down and pouring out, and she found herself almost yelling.

"Me first? Oh, okay. My ex partner, who used to tell me everything, doesn't bother to tell me that he's sleeping with my replacement, Jo Danville, or anything like that. When I get back to New York, I have to stay in my ex-partner's apartment, and when I make the mistake of kissing him, I figure it can't happen again, but it's no big deal. Then I find out that he's sleeping with my replacement, which happens to make the kiss a very big deal to me, even if it's not to my _ex_-partner. My _replacement_, Mac, and apparently it's like I never even fucking existed!" she finally yelled. She screamed a few more things at him, but they were in Greek. Again, however, Mac was positive he didn't need a translator.

"You're wrong," he said quietly when she paused for breath. He felt weighed down by guilt. She was right, too; he could have told her about Jo, but he figured it didn't matter. He could have kept in better touch, too—but none of that mattered now.

"Excuse me? I'm _wrong_?"

"Yes," Mac said. "It wasn't like you'd never even existed. No one forgot about you. I mean, how could they?" he managed a weak smile. "You –everyone missed you. You affected all of us, and when you left—nothing was the same," he said, shaking his head. "Nothing. And Jo –she didn't –it wasn't like you think. We had a few… nights, but we weren't dating, really."

"What was it then?" Stella asked quietly. Mac shook his head and gave a half-shrug.

"I don't want to say it was casual sex, but that seems to be the best way I can think to describe it. We were two lonely people making each other feel better, nothing more."

"Yeah, well, do you know how it made me feel to hear that again? That someone I had almost hooked up with was in a relationship?" Stella demanded. Mac nodded slowly.

"It brought everything back," she said, looking away. Mac could see that her eyes were filling with tears.

"Everything," she repeated, stepping out from behind the couch. "Everything Patrick had said to get rid of me, except this time? This time it wasn't some lie, some elaborate ruse. It was _real_," her voice broke on the last word and a tear spilled down onto her cheek. She swallowed, hard, and forced the next words out. "And the fact that it was you, someone who knew me so well, made it so much worse." She wiped at her eye impatiently, sitting down on the couch. Mac sat down and put a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away. Mac pulled back his hand as if he had been burned.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Stella," Mac said quietly, staring down at the floor. "I…I didn't realize—"

"No," Stella said sharply. "No, you didn't." She crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from him. She bowed her head, and Mac saw her shoulders begin to shake. He reached a hand out to touch her shoulder, then thought better of it and withdrew his hand, looking at her with sorrowful eyes.

"I'm not him, Stella," Mac whispered softly after a minute. "I didn't want to hurt you. It's—it's killing me now, to think that you're upset, and that it's literally all my fault. I should have told you about Jo. You're right. I should have been more up-front with you. I—I'm sorry."

It was a long moment before Stella spoke; so long, in fact, that Mac had been considering just going to bed. But Stella spoke.

"Apology accepted," she whispered. She turned to look at him. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were wet, but she met his gaze steadily. Mac smiled tentatively and stuck out a hand. "Friends?"

It was a moment before Stella took his hand. "Friends," she agreed, seemingly reluctantly.

"Good," Mac said. "I'm glad."

"Me, too," Stella agreed. She scooted closer to Mac and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Mac's arms responded automatically, pulling her closer to him.

He held her a moment longer than was necessary, and Stella let him. Eventually, though, she couldn't keep herself from yawning, and Mac pulled away, looking down at her.

"You're tired," he muttered apologetically. "Right. Sorry. I'll let you go to sleep."

He stood up quickly. "Good night, Stella," he said gently. "I'm glad we talked."

Stella nodded mutely. She didn't trust herself to speak. Mac half-smiled and turned to go to his bedroom.

He was nearly to the doorway when he heard her whispered, "Me, too."


	12. Chapter 12

Over the next few days, things slowly smoothed out between them. They seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement to not talk about what had happened, and both threw themselves into their work. Stella got the evidence from New Orleans, and she and Adam went through it. The only pertinent thing they found was more gravel on the clothes of the women, along with sand and traces of sea grass. Adam, however, had waiting impatiently to process the evidence from the Andries murder, and that was where he struck gold.

He'd checked out the evidence a few days ago, but he hadn't had a chance to go over it, because he'd been pulled aside by Stella to work on the cell phone found at the scene. The cell phone had turned out to be a bust, because with over half the buttons gone, the screen cracked open, and a good deal of water damage and trauma, not even the SIM card (a barely recognizable chip of mangled plastic) was any good. He'd tried his best to retrieve the information off of it, doing everything short of buying a similar phone and trying to reconnect the phone's destroyed connections with a piece of the new phone—which he doubted would work anyway—to try to get the information off of it. Finally, he had to concede defeat. He swabbed samples of the Trace on the phone—the something smeared on the front, dirt on the outside of the phone, and some weird sticky residue on the back—and then returned it to its proper spot in Evidence. Then he turned his attention to the evidence from the Andries murder.

He rolled his eyes when he opened the bag containing Andries's clothes. They were covered in trace evidence of all kinds. He could see several different stains on the pants, one uncomfortably close to the groin area. Granules of something covered both knee areas, and something was smeared on the side of the left leg. Sighing, he laid the clothes on the light table and began to work.

The stain on the groin, to Adam's relief, turned out to be 150-proof rum. The smear on the left leg turned out to be ink, with traces of blood in it. Adam pursed his lips and sent a sample to DNA for typing and analysis, sure that the blood would come back to Stella. The trace on the knees turned out to be sand mixed with crude oil that was consistent with oil rigs in the Gulf. He found pollen of some kind and trace from a few different types of plants on the pants. He set the samples aside to analyze later and turned to the shirt. The shirt ended up being mostly clean except for more rum stains, and a hair on the shoulder. The hair didn't visually match Andries, so Adam pulled it off and sent it to DNA for analysis. Adam sighed again and looked at his watch. It was late; processing had taken the better part of an afternoon. He catalogued the evidence and analyzed the rest of the plant trace. Some time later, the results came in: Sea grass indigenous to the New Orleans area. Adam groaned. He looked at the computer screen one more time and decided to call it a day. On his way out, he passed Mac's office. He and Stella were in there, chatting. His brow furrowed, and he wondered for a moment if she and Mac had slept together. He closed his eyes wearily; he didn't need to think about that. He pushed it from his mind and headed out the door, slipping on his headphones in the hopes that music would drown out his thoughts.

XXXXX

Shortly after Adam had walked by his office, Mac decided to call it a day as well. The evidence hadn't yielded them any solid leads, much to his disappointment. He and Stella were sitting in his office, talking about the case. He noticed Stella yawn, and he smiled slightly.

"We're gonna call it a night. Is that okay with you, Stella?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, smiling. She stood up and stretched slightly. She packed away her laptop and grabbed her jacket from the hook she had put it on that morning.

"Here, let me help you with that," Mac said, stepping out from behind his desk. He held the jacket out, just like he had that night, almost a week ago now, in the garage. She smiled to herself as he helped her put it on, a smile that broke into a wide grin as he hugged her again. She didn't see it, but Mac was smiling, too, and he involuntarily laid his cheek against hers, smiling again as he felt the warmth of her blushing. She giggled quietly and closed her eyes, leaning ever so slightly into him. She sighed contentedly in his ear. Mac heard footsteps, and he looked up. He caught Danny and Flack staring unabashedly at the two. Danny was trying to hide a smirk, and Flack was openly grinning. When they caught his eye, Flack waggled his eyebrows suggestively and gave him a thumbs-up. Mac glared at him, but he only sniggered and walked away, towards the elevators. Danny winked and flashed Mac an 'ok' sign, but at Mac's glare, also made himself scarce. Stella opened her eyes again in time for Mac to look back at her.

"Come on," he said softly. "Let's go home." She nodded, and he stepped back and away from her. He got his stuff from his locker, shut down and locked his office, and within minutes, they were in the garage and on their way back to his apartment. They talked quietly about the case, and other things. They were about five minutes from Mac's apartment when Stella finally brought up what was really on her mind, and had been the past few days.

"So how's Jo doing?" she asked lightly, looking out the window. Mac looked at her quickly. Her face was carefully blank, but her cheeks had turned pink.

"I talked to her today, actually," he said, keeping his eyes on the road. "She and her kids are doing okay. She likes Michigan. According to her, it's beautiful."

"Oh, so that's where she went? That's pretty far. Does she have family out there or something?"

"Uh, yeah," Mac said uncomfortably. "Her ex-husband, Russ."

"Oh," Stella said lightly, misinterpreting his discomfort. "You jealous?"

Mac looked over at her exasperatedly.

"No," he said.

"You worried about her?"

"Well—yeah, but not for the reason you think," Mac said defensively.

"What reason do you think I'm thinking?" Stella asked him with a smirk.

"You think I'm worried that she's with her ex and that they're going to get back together," Mac said, trying not to sound accusatory.

"Are you?"

"No," Mac said. "I'm worried because her ex… never mind."

"Her ex what?" Stella pressed.

"It's kind of personal," Mac said. "But it's not like that, Stella. Didn't you believe me before?"

"Yes," Stella said slowly, drawing out the word, "but it's always nice to hear it again."

Mac snorted. "Now who's jealous?" he asked teasingly. Stella looked at him innocently.

"Don't look over here," she said with a smirk. Mac took his eyes off the road for half a second to roll his eyes over at her. She laughed and hit him playfully on the arm.

"Hey!" Mac said. "Don't hit the driver!" he lodged a gentle tap at her shoulder. She giggled and poked him. He glanced at her again, grinning. She grinned back.

"You are so lucky I'm not driving right now," he said warningly.

"Psh. Excuses," Stella said. "But you're right. Truce?"

"Truce. You'll, uh, excuse me if I don't shake your hand. I don't want to crash this—son of a bitch!" Mac swore as a cabbie cut him off. He slipped into the next lane between a grey Prius and a Honda Accord that had made its debut sometime in the first Clinton administration. They were almost home. Their conversation was casual after that, discussing the case, New Orleans, how bad the cab drivers were, and other things. They talked about everything except what they had done her first night back in the city. It hung between them like a dense cloud that would occasionally sneak a tendril or two towards one of them before they shut it down.

They had fallen into a regular pattern: drive back to Mac's, talk about anything but the kiss, get into his apartment, get ready for bed, Stella using the bathroom first, then Mac, and then they sat down on Stella's bed and watched the evening news for a bit. Finally, Stella started yawning again, and Mac smiled and turned the TV off.

"All right, I'll let you go to bed," he said. He stood up and Stella slid between the layers of sheets, smiling when Mac kissed the top of her head. He walked to his bedroom, saying "Good night, Stella," over his shoulder as he did so. He pulled back the sheets of his own bed and sighed. Alone now, he couldn't help but worry about her safety. Jones was still out there somewhere, possibly plotting Stella's death, and he couldn't do anything about it. he closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and index finger, pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn't worry about that now. They were getting closer every day to getting him. Jones's face was plastered on every news station, police station, and Internet news site in the city. He'd find Jones eventually. He'd hunt him down if it was the last thing he did. He bowed his head and muttered a quick prayer before he lay down: _Dear Lord, I'm asking you to keep her safe. Please keep Jones away from her. Amen_. Then he lay down. He lay awake for awhile, listening for Jones, but then he, too fell asleep.

XXXXX

He woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he looked at the alarm clock. Six a.m. he grabbed the phone and answered it.

"Taylor."

"Were you sleeping?" Flack's voice cut through the remaining drowsiness.

"Did you really call me to ask me that?"

"No. We found Jones again. He's holed up in an abandoned bar over in the meat-packing district."

"Is he in custody?"

"No. He doesn't know we have him yet, either. I figured you'd want in on this."

"Thanks, Flack. When can we have teams ready to go in?"

"Well, we just got the information now, so it'll be a few hours. Let's say around eight?"

"Yeah, okay. I'll meet you at the precinct, to go over plans. We have to do this quickly. We can't lose him again."

"We won't, Mac. We've got an eye on him; someone will let us know if he moves again."

"Okay. I'll be in as soon as possible."

"Yeah."

"Thanks, Flack."

"No problem." The line went dead and Mac sat upright in his bed, now wide-awake. He dressed quickly and quietly, and then went into the living room to wake up Stella and tell her what was going on.

"Stella," he said, shaking her shoulder gently. She batted his hand away, mumbling something about rats.

"Stella, we found him again," Mac said. "You need to wake up."

Stella groaned and rolled over, muttering incomprehensibly.

"Stella, wake up," Mac said again.

"Gmmfnh… lemmelon."

"Stella!" Mac said loudly. She sat up suddenly, eyes wide open, and screamed "Get out of my house!" at him.

"Not your house, Stel. Sorry."

She looked at him and blinked, her eyes settling at half-mast. "What?"

"You just… never mind. You awake now?"

"Yeah, why?" she asked, yawning.

"Because we found Dawson Jones again." This seemed to wake her up. Her eyes opened all the way and she looked up at him.

"We did?" she asked. "Where?"

"Abandoned bar in the meat-packing district."

"Mac, this is great!" she said excitedly, throwing the blankets aside. She swung her legs down and sat up. "When do we move?"

"Whoa, wait a minute, Stella," Mac said, frowning slightly.

"What? I'm going with this time," Stella said, standing up and stretching quickly before moving to her suitcase to grab some clothes.

"No you're not," Mac said, looking at her bewilderedly. "Are you crazy?"

"Not since the last time I checked, no. I'm going," Stella said, slowly standing up.

"The hell you are, Stella," Mac snapped. "Did you really think you were going to?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Stella fired back. "Do I have to remind you that I'm here representing NOLAPD, and also that this is a joint investigation? I didn't come back just to visit, Mac."

"I know, Stella, and I know that you're here for a joint investigation, but I don't think it's safe for you to—"

"Bull," Stella cut him off. She felt her temper flare. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I have just as much a right as you to be there when he's arrested. This is _my_ case, too, Mac."

"Really? Because up until about three minutes ago, you seemed happy to let me take the lead."

"That's because up until three minutes ago, you weren't trying to cut me out of the loop."

"Cut you out of the loop? I told you, didn't I?"

"Doesn't matter, Mac. I need to be there."

"You're nuts if you think I'm going to let you be there."

"What, you're going to stop me?" Stella sneered.

"Hell, yes," Mac said stubbornly. "It's my jurisdiction, and when you're in _my_ jurisdiction, I won't let you within a hundred feet of Jones."

"What, you think I can't handle him?"

"He's killing people that look like you, Stella! For God's sake, he could be coming after you! I will _not_ let you near him, and I will _not_ stand by and watch while you get killed in my jurisdiction!" Mac yelled. He couldn't believe Stella's reaction. She was glaring at him; he glared right back.

"I'm not losing you to him, Stella. You will go to the lab and continue working on the case from there. I will keep you in the loop, and as soon as we catch him, I'll call you. You are not coming," Mac said firmly. He softened his tone. "I don't want to see you killed, okay?"

She still glared at him, but she knew he was right.

"Fine," she huffed. "But I want to know the minute you catch him."

"The minute he's in custody, I'll call," Mac promised.

"Okay," Stella said. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"Me, too," Mac said. "You caught me off guard."

"Yeah, well, so did you. I was sleeping," Stella said with a smile, and just like that, the tension, which had been growing thicker just moments before, melted away. Mac smiled back.

"I'm gonna go get coffee. Can I get you anything?" Mac asked.

"Yeah, could you get me one, too?" Stella asked. "I can be ready to go by the time you get back."

"Okay," Mac agreed. "I'll bring up the coffee, and then we'll go down together."

"All right. I'm just gonna take a shower. See you when you get back," Stella said. Mac nodded on his way out.

XXXXX

Twenty minutes later, Mac walked back into his apartment to find Stella waiting for him on the couch, her hair done, and looking absolutely beautiful in a knit blue sweater and plain black pants.

"Hey," Mac said, clearing his throat. She looked up from the newspaper she was reading.

"Hey," she said. "You got the coffee?"

Mac held up the drink holder with two coffee cups from Stella's favorite coffee shop in one hand. The other hand held a brown paper bag.

"What's in the bag?" Stella asked. Mac looked down, a look on his face that suggested he had forgotten about it.

"Oh," he said. "Muffins." He held the bag out to her. "My apology," he said, staring at the floor. "I know you're frustrated that you can't come to bust Jones, but it's too dangerous. You'll be staying at the lab with Lindsay. Did you want a live feed?"

Stella took the bag and a coffee and sipped while she considered this. On one hand, she could be there and see all the action, but on the other hand, she really needed to get back in contact with her boss back in Louisiana, touch bases with her team, and check on her own lab's progress. She shook her head.

"Thanks, but I've got stuff to do. I really need to check back in with my team and see how they're doing," Stella said. "I'll be fine. Just make sure you call me, okay? I'll answer, no matter what I'm doing."

Mac nodded and took a sip of his coffee. "That's fair. I'll drive you to the lab on my way to the precinct," he said.

"That's not necessary—" Stella began.

"Yes it is." Mac interrupted her shortly. "Come on, let's get going."

"Okay," Stella said. She was a little irritated that Mac was treating her like a child, but she knew his heart was in the right place, so she stood up and grabbed her laptop bag and purse. Then she and Mac walked out to where he had parked the Avalanche and got in.

About an hour later, Mac had dropped her off at the lab and was at the precinct, getting briefed on the operation by Flack and a burly cop Mac recognized as the SWAT team Commander.

"This is where we believe he's holed up," The SWAT commander said, pointing at a map. The map was of the Meat-packing district, and it was displayed on a plasma screen. There was a red rectangle drawn around a few blocks. "This is our perimeter. It's a three block radius. We'll be covering that. You'll have three teams, positioned here, here, and here," he pointed at three spots in the area of the bar. "We'll be rolling in twenty. The warrant came through about half an hour ago."

Mac nodded. "Good."

The last twenty minutes were a haze of introductions, team assignments, and rehashing of the plan. Then they all loaded the SWAT truck and took the forty minute drive to the abandoned bar on the other side of town. Mac, who had not ridden with the rest of the teams, pulled up minutes later in his Avalanche. He pulled his bulletproof vest out of the bed and made sure his gun was loaded. Then he shut and locked the truck, grabbed his vest, and strode to the front of twenty or so police officers milling around, being passed radios, earwig radio receivers, and microphones that could be attached to the wrist. He called them all to attention.

"Okay, guys," Mac said as he put on his bulletproof vest. "Dawson Jones is armed and very dangerous. He's already killed seven people; he won't hesitate to kill you. He's a runner, so do not let him get past you. There are four teams placed strategically throughout a three block area. I'm leading the first team; we'll be going in straight. Flack is leading the second team; they'll be watching these back alleys. Danny's team will be watching the front; if he runs, he'll be hitting either Danny's team or Flack's team. The last team is a SWAT team; they will create a barrier around the bar. If he does get past our three teams, they will stop him. We all have radios; let's use them. Stay in contact, both with your leaders and with me. I don't want to lose anybody today because we lost a line of communication.

"Let me be clear," he said, glaring at all of them. "We need this man alive. _Do not_ let him get past you, and only shoot if you need to. If he has a gun and fires first, _do not_ shoot to kill. Understand?"

There was a general nodding and agreement. "Okay, let's go," Mac said. "Be careful out there, guys."

They finished syncing the radios and doing radio checks, and finally moved silently into position.

"Everyone in position?" Mac whispered into his mic. He removed his weapon from its holster and cocked it. The _click_ of the bullet into position sounded hollow and menacing.

"In position," Flack's voice whispered over the radio.

"Yup," Danny whispered. "Let's do this."

"Okay, guys," Mac said. "Bring up the battering ram."

Two SWAT members assigned to his team brought it up. Weighing thirty pounds and about the width of three-inch wide PVC pipe with a protective plate on the business end, the battering ram could open any door it needed to.

"On three," Mac whispered to his guys. They nodded. "One… Two… _Three_."

The door busted open, and Mac immediately rushed in, silently and quickly. The sound of the battering ram echoed through the abandoned bar where Jones was staying. There was no one there. Mac signaled for his team to follow him through the double doors that led to the small kitchen. Mac and the two SWAT members crept to the door. Mac signaled for them to go low while he went high, then a three count, and they stormed the kitchen. Mac saw a lone figure at the end of the room, by an open service door that led into an alley. The figure turned around.

"Don't move! On the ground!" Mac yelled. Jones's eyes widened, and he turned around and broke into a sprint out the door. Mac immediately followed suit.

"He's running!" he yelled into his radio.

"I got him, he's coming around to the front of the building," Danny's voice crackled in his ear. Mac continued running, keeping an eye on Jones. He saw Danny pull out in front of him, slowly gaining on Jones. Flack's voice crackled to life in Mac's ear.

"I can see him. Keep him coming towards me, Danny."

"Yup," Danny grunted. Jones rounded a corner.

"Shit, I lost him. Do you see him, Flack?"

"I'm going down the alley, I can see him." Danny rounded the corner and caught sight of Jones again.

"Found him. Damn, Flack, where the hell are you?" he asked as Jones turned again and raced down an alley. He heard Flack shout "Stop! NYPD!" and then a loud crash, followed by Flack swearing loudly.

"Flack? You alright?"

"Danny, where the _hell_ are you?"

"Right behind you, buddy. I can see him."

"I'll go around and cut him off. You two got him?"

"Yeah," Danny answered. "He's headed down the third alleyway after the corner. Where's our third team?"

"It's here." He ran past the alley and saw Flack and Danny chasing after Jones. He doubled back and waited just out of sight, ready to tackle him if he made it. However, sounds of a scuffle, three men falling to the ground, and Danny's loud "I got him! I got him!" assured him that that wouldn't be necessary. He turned the corner to see Flack, Danny, and Jones on the ground. Flack pulled out his handcuffs, and Jones started squirming around. Danny, who was on top of Jones, pushed him to the ground and held him there.

"Buddy, trust me, you don't want to move right now," he said threateningly. "Stay still."

Flack finished cuffing Jones and looked up.

"Hey, nice of you to join us, Mac. Where were you?"

"Get these damn handcuffs off of me," Jones whined. "I didn't do anything."

"The hell you didn't," Danny growled.

"Dawson Jones, you're under arrest for the murders of Liza Johnson, Alyssa Copaccelli, Maria DeLorenzo, Marissa Barbas, Sandra Aransani, Jeanne Beauregard, and Patrick Andries. You have the right to remain silent, so shut the hell up," Flack said. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and you're going to need a damn good one. If you cannot afford an attorney, you're screwed, but one will be appointed to you anyway. If you answer my questions now, you can still refuse to answer at any time until you get an attorney, but it doesn't matter because we have you dead to rights anyway. Do you understand me?"

"Go to hell."

"You know what? Shut up. I'm tired of hearing your voice." He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and realized it was soaked with blood. "God dammit, you had to go and ruin this suit, didn't you? I loved this suit," he griped to Mac.

"Well, the only thing that matters is that we got him," Mac said with a slight grin.

"Speak for yourself," Flack said sourly. Underneath his knee, Jones struggled.

"Stop moving!" Flack yelled at him.

"Go fuck yourself!" Jones yelled back.

"Oh, a ginger with a temper, that's a new one," Flack snarled.

Mac laughed. "Okay, Flack, go get cleaned off," he said. "I'll take care of Jones."

"I'm fine, Mac," Flack grunted. Jones struggled harder and kicked him in the back of the leg.

"Oh, that's it," Flack said threateningly. He made to elbow Jones in the back of the neck, but Mac said "Flack!" sharply. He looked up at him.

"You know what? Take him. Take the sonofabitch before I kill him," Flack growled. Mac knelt down beside Flack and took his place holding Jones to the ground.

"Get offa me," Jones snarled.

"Shut up," Mac said firmly. He stood up, dragging Jones with him. Apparently, however, Jones hadn't given up quite yet.

"This is for my master!"he yelled, and swung around, catching Mac by surprise. He raised his cuffed hands and used the momentum from swinging around to catch Mac square in the face. Mac saw stars. He heard Jones start running and took off after him, fury and pain giving him an extra burst of speed. He outran both Flack and Danny and tackled Jones at the waist, making sure Jones's head bounced off the pavement as he hit the ground.

"Is that the best your master's got?" he growled in Jones's ear.

"My master won't let you do this. Master will come to get me. You'll never pin this on me," Jones snarled. Spit was flying from his lips and he was slightly foaming at the mouth; he looked quite mad.

"Too late," Mac said. "I've already got you."

Jones threw his head back and caught Mac in the nose. Mac swore and slammed his forearm down on Jones's shoulders, forcing him down against the pavement. He struggled, flopping uselessly against the ground like a fish about to get beheaded.

"Mac, you okay?" Flack asked, running up to him.

"Yeah," Mac said. He felt a stinging on his forehead but ignored it.

"Help me get him up," he told Flack. Flack nodded, and together, he and Flack pulled Jones to his feet.

"I got him from here," Flack said, and Mac let go. Flack dragged him unceremoniously to the back of a squad car. Jones tried to resist getting into the car, but Flack, already in a bad mood, just shoved him bodily in the car and shut the door. Then he closed his eyes and took two deep breaths.

"Are you okay?" Danny asked him. Flack swore quietly under his breath and held up his arm.

"Nope," he said grimly. Mac watched the exchange from a few feet away. The stinging on his forehead continued. He wiped his forehead with his hand and saw blood. His face felt swollen; he probably had a black eye. But the eye that wasn't swelling closed was trained on Flack's forearm.

"Flack, you need to get that checked out," he called. Flack shook his head.

"I'll be fine," he replied. "I'm just gonna accompany our boy Dawson here back to the precinct, make sure he doesn't try to pull anything." With that, he walked around to the driver's side door of the cruiser, opened the door, and promptly yelled "Shut the hell up!"

Mac laughed, in a sudden good mood. He turned to one of the uniforms standing around.

"Go and assist Detective Flack in the prisoner transport," he said. "If he tries to shake you off, tell him Mac told you to." The uni nodded and walked toward the cruiser. He watched him get in and the cruiser pull away—or rather, get shoved into drive and peel out of the alley—then, laughing, pulled out his phone and called Stella. She answered on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"We got him, Stella," Mac said triumphantly into his phone. "Dawson Jones is now in custody. We're bringing him in now."

"You got him?" she repeated in disbelief.

"Yeah," Mac said. "You want to come up for the interrogation?"

"Are you kidding me? I wouldn't miss it for the world," Stella said grimly. "I'll meet you there."

"Wait," Mac said. "I want you to go with Danny. He's coming to pick you up right now."

"Why?" Stella asked. "I can take care of myself, and besides, Jones is already in custody."

"I don't want to give any accomplices he has any chances. It'll make me feel better if you didn't go anywhere alone," he said, his voice almost giving away his worry. Stella sighed.

"Okay," she said.

"Thank you," Mac said quietly. Stella cleared her throat.

"So tell Danny to call me when he gets here, okay? I've got a ton of work to do," she said, acting like she hadn't heard him.

"I will," Mac said quickly. He hung up the phone and motioned for Danny to come over.

"Yeah boss?" Danny said, jogging over easily.

"I need you to get Stella from the lab and bring her down to the station," Mac said. Danny pulled a face.

"Why can't she drive herself?" Danny asked.

"There's a serial killer killing off women that look like her, remember? I don't want her going anywhere alone," Mac said firmly.

"Oh, right, right. Yeah, I'll go now," Danny said.

"Thanks. Call her when you get to the lab, okay?"

"No problem." Danny walked away. He was a little miffed about being assigned as chauffeur, but if it kept Stella safe, he'd do it.


	13. Chapter 13

Stella was waiting outside when Danny pulled up. Immediately, Danny got out of the car.

"What happened, Stella? Is everything okay?" he asked, his young face creased in worry. Stella smiled.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Danny," she said, "I may have let on to Mac that I was busier than I thought, that's all."

Danny nodded, looking troubled.

"Well, okay, then," he said. "You ready to go?"

"Yup," Stella said. "Let's go."

"All right," Danny said. Stella got into the passenger seat and Danny took the wheel.

"So, you ready to do this?" Danny asked her as they drove off, trying to sound casual.

"Yes," Stella answered firmly.

"I'm warning you right now, this Jones guy, he's crazy," Danny said. "When we finally caught up to him, he started yelling stuff about how his master wouldn't let him get caught and how his master would get him out of this, and a bunch of other crazy stuff. I'm telling you, he's _nuts_."

"I'm sure he is, Danny," Stella said. "I mean, how many sane people do you see running around, killing women?"

"Good point, but even by those standards, this guy's crazy. He –well, you'll see," Danny said confidently. Stella nodded, smirking slightly.

When they got to the station, they were met by Don and Mac, who both looked a little bit worse for the wear. There was a cut above Mac's left eyebrow, and a bruise was forming on his cheek. Flack had a black eye, a bleeding lip, and the sleeve of his shirt was rolled back to reveal a nasty-looking cut on his forearm.

"Oh, my god," Stella said before she could stop herself. "Are you okay, Ma—you guys?"

"It's not nearly as painful as it looks," Flack shrugged. Mac, who had apparently not been paying attention, turned his head and looked at her.

"Good, you're here," Mac said with relief. "We waited on you to start. He's in Interrogation Room A."

"Yeah, and he's not too happy to be there, so let's get this party started, okay?" Flack added. Mac nodded his agreement and began walking towards the interrogation rooms. Flack, Stella, and Danny followed, Danny making sure that Stella wasn't left alone behind him. Flack walked into the interrogation room, and Stella tried to follow, but Mac grabbed her arm.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"I'm going into interrogate him, what'd you expect?" Stella returned.

"You can't do that Stella," he said.

"Why not? He's my suspect too, in case you'd forgotten," Stella said belligerently.

"Because he's been killing women that look like you, and the last thing I'm going to give him is another target in a confined space," Mac said. "No, it's too dangerous. You come in the back with me and Danny."

"Aww, come on, Mac," Danny started to protest, but when Mac and Stella both shot him a look, he began to recant. "All right, all right, if you insist," he grumbled. They filed one by one into the observation room and watched Flack work his magic.

"So," Flack began, pulling out the chair across from Jones. "Dawson Jones. You're a bit far from home, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jones said, looking at him. Flack grinned.

"Sure ya do," he said. "You're in the wrong city, buddy. This is New York, not New Orleans."

"Really, now," Jones said sarcastically.

"Yup," Flack said. "Seems like you've got quite a record back there, too, don't ya? Let's see now, what do we have here," Flack mused aloud, rifling through the file he held in his hand. "We got burglary, drunk and disorderly, vandalism, drunk and disorderly again, petty theft, assault, drunk and disorderly again, public urination, assault with a deadly weapon, drunk and disorderly _again_… man, you like to drink, don't you?"

"So what if I do?" Jones asked defensively. "Its not illegal."

"Nope," Flack agreed. "I'll give you that."

"Okay, then, so what am I doing here?"

"He doesn't seem so crazy to me," Stella said quietly from behind the glass. Danny nodded.

"This is how he started out, before he took off down the alley," he said. "Just wait."

"So why did you run when we tried to talk to you?" Flack was asking Jones.

"I told you on the way over, I thought this was about the parking ticket," Jones insisted. Flack laughed out loud.

"Yeah, you tried to tell me that earlier. But I don't believe you," he said, leaning forward.

"Why not?"

"Because you don't assault two police officers over a parking ticket," Flack growled, all traces of laughter gone. He was dead serious as he pointed to the cut on his arm, which had started to leak through the bandage he'd hastily slapped on before walking in. "You think I wanna be here chattin' it up with you when I should be getting this checked out, huh? I should probably be gettin' a tetanus shot thanks to that rusty whatever you threw at me. So why don't you quit wastin' my time and start talking, okay?"

Jones looked up at him, bored. "Boo hoo, cry me a freaking river. I'm not saying anything."

"Yeah? We'll see. Where were you four nights ago?"

"I was at work."

"No you weren't."

"How do you know?" Jones asked snidely.

"You're unemployed. Says so right here on your record."

"Well, it's wrong. I was working."

"Where do you work then?" Flack asked.

"None of your damn business, that's where," Jones said angrily. Flack nodded and pretended to write something down on his notepad.

"Uh-huh. And what do you do at none of your damn business?"

"Fuck you."

"Nope. Wrong answer. Where were you three nights ago?"

"Fuck you."

"Really now? Because a second ago, you were at work. You keep changing your story, buddy. You got something to hide?"

"Fuck you."

"Don't waste your time, I'm not into guys," Flack said casually. He flipped open the file on the desk and laid all the pictures of the victims out on the table.

"You recognize any of these women?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me, Dawson. You know all of them, don't you?"

"Fuck you."

"You killed them, didn't you?"

"Fuck you."

"So that's a yes, then?"

"No."

"Did you kill them?"

"No."

"So how come we found your hairs on them?"

"I don't know."

"Why'd you run?"

"Fuck you."

"So we're back to that, huh?"

"Fuck you."

"You know, that's pretty rude."

"Fuck you."

"So I'm just gonna assume that whenever you say that, you mean 'yes'. So, did you kill these women?"

"I hope you get AIDS."

"Really? What are you, thirteen?"

"Fuck you."

"Okay, now that's getting annoying. Who's your master?"

"None of your business."

"That's a weird name. What do you do for him?"

"Nothing."

"Listen, buddy, my arm hurts, and I wasn't in too good a mood before I chased you down the alley, so now I'm getting pissed. So how about this: if you don't start giving me something I can work with, I'm putting you on the next bus to Sing-Sing, and tell them to put you in with the biggest, meanest guy they got. And they got some seriously nasty guys in there, and they're all lonely, Dawson. Understand? What did you do for him?"

Jones looked down at the table for a second.

"I find him… things."

"Hey, look who's decided to answer again! What kind of things?"

"Things, you know? Stuff."

Flack sighed, looked over at the glass hiding the observation room. "Hey, you in there," he said, "Can I kill him now, or will one of you come and stop me?"

Danny chuckled. "Want me to go in there, boss?"

"No, I'll go," Mac said. He muttered something that Stella couldn't hear to Danny as he passed by, but from the way he nodded and then looked over at her, she could guess.

"I don't need a bodyguard, Danny," she said as soon as the door had shut behind Mac. Danny smirked.

"Yeah, you're probably right," he agreed. "I mean, it's not like you have a crazy serial killer after you or anything. Oh, wait…" he trailed off, looking at her significantly. Stella sighed.

"Yeah, and it looks like we've got him in custody," Stella said, referencing the sullen-looking Jones, who perked up as Mac opened the door to the interrogation room.

"You my lawyer?"

"The one that you didn't ask for?" Mac returned dryly.

"Oh, yeah. I want a lawyer," Jones demanded.

"A lawyer? Oh, no! What are we gonna do, Mac?" Flack asked mock-worriedly. Mac shrugged his shoulders in mock-defeat.

"I don't know. We could just leave him in here till his lawyer shows up," Mac suggested off-handedly.

"After what he did to us? No, that would be unfair to Mitchell over there. He wouldn't stand a chance against this guy," he said, first referencing Officer Mitchell, who stood silently in the corner, then Jones.

"Ah, I suppose you're right. So I guess we have no other option than to sit here with him. So how long until the lawyer gets here?"

"An hour."

"An hour?"

"Yup. But that's probably nothing compared to—say, how long do you think our little friend's gonna be away for?"

"Oh, I can't say. Six, maybe seven life sentences?"

"And that's only if you get a sympathetic jury."

"Oh, don't get his hopes up, Flack. No jury's gonna be sympathetic to this guy."

"That's for sure. Say, do you think they'll prosecute here or New Orleans? I hear they still use the firing squad there."

"Come on, Flack, now you're just being cruel," Mac said, walking over behind Jones and putting two hands firmly on his shoulders. "That's Utah. And the last time they used that was in 1994."

"Aw, that's a shame," Flack said disappointedly.

"Yeah. But don't they use hanging in Louisiana?" Mac asked, his hands twitching slightly on Jones's shoulders. Jones jumped violently and swallowed, twisting his neck uncomfortably.

"I don't know. Maybe," Flack said thoughtfully. He smiled cruelly, resting his chin on his palm.

"I wouldn't want to watch that execution," Mac said gravely, leaning over towards Flack. "I mean, they haven't executed anyone like that in, what, fifty, sixty years? They have to get it _exactly_ right. They have to weigh the prisoner so they know the right length of rope to use…"

"Oh, he's about, what, one-eighty, one-ninety? Something like that?"

"…they have to make sure the rope is properly soaked and stretched and knotted, right _there_—" he jabbed a spot in Jones's neck, and he jumped again, looking flustered and angry "—just off to the left, or they might not die right away…"

"Eh, an inch to the left or right, what does that matter?"

"Oh, if they don't die right away, things become very, very painful for the prisoner. Their eyes could pop out, their arms and legs flail around helplessly, and sometimes," Mac grinned a horrible grin at Flack, who looked enthralled, "Sometimes, their tongue could become engorged. And all of that is before they even die."

"So they'd feel all of that?" Flack asked in a grim imitation of awe. Mac nodded slowly, still grinning.

"Wow. What do you think about that, huh?" Flack asked Jones, who was slightly pale.

"My master would n-never let that happen to me," he said, in a weak attempt at bravado.

Flack barked a harsh laugh and stood up. Mac straightened as well, taking a step or two back and casually leaning against the wall. He folded his arms across his chest, looking menacing.

"Against this guy? Forget it," Flack said, jerking a thumb behind him at Mac. "I don't care who your master is, you've been screwed ever since he walked in the room. And if your master's really who you think he is, even if we don't get you—"

"Which we will," Mac interjected.

"Oh, yeah, we'll get you on something," Flack agreed as he walked over to the door and pulled it open, "but even if we don't, _he_ will." And with that, he walked out of the room. There were several beats of silence, during which Mac stared piercingly at Jones's back while Jones stared nervously at the door from which Flack had just exited, as if he half-expected to see the door open again to reveal his master.

"Mitchell," Mac said sharply after a moment, not taking his eyes from Jones's back. The younger officer looked over at the detective.

"Yes, sir?"

"Get back to work."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me sir."

"Sorry." The officer wasted no time leaving the room, leaving as wide a berth as possible around Jones. It was clear that Mitchell had no desire to stay in the room with Jones longer than necessary. The door opened and shut again with a frightened snap, and then it was just Jones and Mac alone in the room.

In the observation room, Stella stared at Jones, her head tilted slightly to the side, sizing him up. The door opened, and Stella jumped, looking around, but it was only Flack.

Mac pushed off the wall silently and began to circle the room, still scrutinizing Jones, never taking his eyes off him. This appeared to disquiet Jones even more. He rubbed his neck anxiously as he watched Mac circle. It was a full minute before Mac said anything, and when he did, he stopped just behind Jones.

"Do you know what an M.O. is, Mr. Jones?" he asked quietly. Jones jumped violently, banging his knee against the bottom of the table with a loud _thump_.

"Uh, no," Jones said hesitantly.

"It's short for _Modus Operandi_. It's Latin, actually. _Modus_, that's where we get our word _mode_. _Operandi_, origin of our words operate, operation, et cetera. In English, it translates roughly into _the way things are done_. In this case, clearly, it's murder. Each of these women—" he spread the pictures out across the table "—were killed in the same manner. Same M.O. They were beaten badly, and then stabbed viciously in the chest as they fought for their lives.

"Now, _why_," Mac paused in his pacing and put his hand on the table across from Jones, "do you think someone would do that?"

"I don't know. That's sick," Jones said uncomfortably. Mac laughed humorlessly.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is," he agreed, rearranging the pictures of the victims in front of Jones.

"I mean, look at this," he said. "Just look at this woman. She was thirty five, had just had a baby girl. Her oldest, a little girl, was about to start middle school. Now, she won't have a mother to help her through any of that, because her mom was taken while in Central Park, beaten, and stabbed."

"That's… horrible," Jones said, "But I don't understand why you think I did it."

"Think? Oh, I don't _think_, Dawson, I know. I mean, either you are just some mentally disturbed person that's over-devoted to your boss, or you're a serial killer, and you're going down for the murders of seven women. And juries, they really aren't sympathetic to guys who kill women for no good reason. They like to sentence them to death, actually. The difference between death and life in prison is the name of your master and anyone else who was involved with this. Either you tell me his name, or I'll charge you right now with the murders of these seven women, and you, and you alone, will go down for this, and I will make sure that they try you in Louisiana."

"What?"

"This offer goes off the table the moment I walk out of here. Decide fast." Mac looked at his watch. "You have one minute."

Dawson Jones simply stared at Mac, confusion clear on his face.

"Wait," Jones said stupidly after a few seconds. "I'll be charged with seven murders?"

"Yes, and intent to harm a police officer if I can manage it," Mac said coldly. "Fifty-three seconds."

"But I—I didn't—" Jones's mouth opened and closed several times. Mac looked down at his watch again.

"Thirty seconds, Dawson. Last chance." Jones looked utterly confused.

"Ten seconds. I hope you swing."

Jones continued to gape wordlessly. Mac looked down at his watch again. He started walking to the door.

"Bye."

"Wait!" Jones blurted.

Mac turned. "What?"

"I—I didn't kill –all of them."

"Are you admitting that you committed murder?"

"I—yes."

Mac walked back to the table, eyeing him suspiciously. He pointed to the pictures of the women.

"Which ones did you kill?"

"That one—" he pointed to Liza, "That one, and that one." He pointed to the other two New York victims.

"Why did you kill them?"

"I—I can't tell you."

"Who killed the others?"

"I can't tell you."

"Did someone tell you to kill them?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you."

Mac stood up, towering over Jones. "Pl-please," Jones muttered, "Please, I can't tell you—he'll kill me."

Mac narrowed his eyes. "Your master?"

"Y-yes."

"If you cooperate, we can protect you."

"N-not from him," Jones whimpered.

"Yes, we can," Mac said calmly. "We can offer protection, relocate you, keep you safe, but only if you cooperate and give me the names of your master and the person who killed in New Orleans. You _do_ know these names, right?"

"Kind of."

"_Kind of_?"

"Well, I –I don't know my Master's name, not his real name anyway."

"What do you know about him?"

"Please, I can't, you have to understand, he'll kill me!" Jones cried. "And it'll be worse than what he did to—" he broke off, covering his hand with his mouth. Mac sat down at the table and looked him squarely in the eye.

"Dawson, if you help us, we'll help you. But if you don't, I can promise that you _will_ die, though whether it's at the hands of your master or the state of Louisiana, I don't know. Now, I want to help you, but I can't until you help me."

Jones looked at him and slowly lowered his hand. He nodded.

"How did you find your master?"

"I didn't. He found me," Jones said fearfully.

"How?"

"I don't remember, exactly. I—I was drunk, I think he approached me in a bar, I don't remember, all I remember is waking up the next day alone in an unfamiliar room."

"What did the room look like?"

"I don't know. The lights were off. I was in a chair, though."

"What happened next?"

"H-he was behind me. I couldn't see his face. He told me that if I turned around, he'd kill me. He said if I made a sound, he'd kill me. Told me to—to nod when I understood, to shake my head if I needed something explained. Then he—" he swallowed, hard. "I'm sorry, It's just hard to—to explain." He took a deep breath.

"Take your time," Mac said emotionlessly.

"He told me… things about himself. I'm sorry, detective," he added quickly. "I just, I can't tell you those things. They're—they're not—they're too private. He told me about his… hobby, as he called it. He told me that his hobby required an assistant: me. He gave me my first task, then he—he put a cloth over my mouth. I woke up outside the bar I had been in."

"Hold on," Mac interrupted. "How did you know that wasn't a dream, or a hallucination?"

Jones smiled weakly and raised his left hand. "He wrote my first task on my left hand. I'm left-handed." He pushed his sleeve back. "The brand helped, too." Mac leaned forward. Sure enough, there was a small figure burned into his wrist.

"What is that?" Mac asked.

"I don't know. I—I think it's a –a fish."

"What was your first task?"

"My first task… was to find a man. I was supposed to find this man and… and kill him."

"Did this man have a name?" Mac asked impatiently.

"Yes. It was, uh, Patrick. Patrick, uh, Andrews, maybe? Andes? Something weird. He had the same brand as me, he'd look like me, that's how I'd know him."

Behind the glass, Stella's sharp intake of breath matched Mac's perfectly. She bit her lip as a memory surfaced.

"_What happened to you there?" she asked, laughing, as she pointed at his wrist. Patrick looked down at his wrist, and then he smiled ruefully._

"_Ah, it was a practical joke one of my friend's older brothers pulled on me. Dared me to put my hand in a campfire. It had one of those truck tire thangs around it, you know, so the fire wouldn't spread. Anyway, just as I was about to do it, his ma comes up behind me and grabs my shoulder. Scared the livin' shit outta me. I had my hand stretched out, like so," he said, demonstrating. "And when she grabbed me, I jerked, and turned around, and my hand went right onto the ring of that damn fire pit. Second degree burns on my wrist. Couldn't write, read, or do nothin' else for about three weeks."_

"_Uh-huh," Stella giggled flirtatiously. "Yeah, right. It's too fresh."_

"_Would you believe if I told you it was from a hot plate accident in college?"_

"_Nope," Stella said, her curls bouncing around her head._

"_Okay, fine, I got it last winter. I was making fried shrimp and some of the grease jumped up and burned me."_

"_In the shape of a fish? Yeah, right."_

"_Honest to baby Jesus, woman, that's what happened."_

"Patrick Andries?" Mac's voice over the intercom scared her back to reality.

Jones brightened minutely. "Yes, that was it. Andries. His name was Patrick Andries."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Apologies for the terribly long wait! I meant to update monday, but school and life got in the way... but I have good news! Remember how I said the updates were going to be taking some time because I needed to connect some things? well NO MORE! I have finished connecting them :D :D :D after a considerable amount of hard (If spaced-out) work, I have connected everything together! Now, all I need to do is re-edit and check facts before I post each chapter, and I should be good for another two or three chapters or so :D after that, though, there might be another message about having to wait, depending on how soon I can start transcribing written to typed material. But we'll see. Anyway, I thought I'd throw this up here today and another one in a few days. I was originally gonna put up two, because I felt bad for the hiatus, but I want you guys (my readers) to be able to appreciate this chapter especially in it's entirety. It's so SMacked, and I have been waiting forever to post this chapter for you guys! I hope you're prepared. Hint: probably not. well, maybe. ah, forget it, just read.

Brii.

P.S. For those of you reading "Am I Too Old For This?" I had some help from the lovely **Ballettmaus**, and I will be posting it sometime this week. I hope. If I can write it in less than a week. Wish me luck! happy reading! Review please!

* * *

><p>Stella looked at Jones in a new light. She swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe. She could feel Danny and Flack looking at her, but stared straight ahead, ignoring them.<p>

"Why did you have to kill this Patrick Andries?" Mac asked.

Jones hesitated. "I'm not sure I can explain it right," he said slowly.

"Try."

"Well, what he told me was that I was replacing him. He said Andries had proved himself… unreliable."

"How? Did he tell you how?"

"Yes. He said that Andries had failed to bring him—to complete one of his tasks."

"Which was… what? Come on, Dawson, work with me here. You're wasting my time."

"He was supposed to bring him… you know…" Jones said shiftily. He toyed with one of the pictures still on the table.

"No, I don't know," Mac said testily. "Want to explain for me?"

"I'm trying as hard as I can, okay?" Jones shot back. "You don't understand, my life is at stake here…"

"I understand that, you're just not giving me enough to work with, Dawson," Mac said crossly. "I understand you can't give me a name, or a description, or anything like that, but can you at least tell me what the task was?"

Jones sighed. "I'll tell you this much: Master's tasks were all the same," he said significantly, toying once again with the pictures. Mac looked at him for a long moment. Jones didn't meet his eye, but rather stared pointedly at the pictures.

"Oh," Mac said suddenly, comprehension dawning. "So this Patrick Andries—"

"—didn't bring Master what he wanted." He looked up, finally, at Mac. "Master is like a fisherman—he'll wait in one spot forever, with his bait in the water—" he indicated himself, "—waiting for the right fish. And just like every fisherman, he has the one that got away."

"The one that…" Mac stood up, upending his chair with a screech and sending it flying back into the wall. Jones flinched, but Mac ignored it. He leaned down close, bringing his face within inches of Jones'. His eyes seemed to shoot sparks, and Jones shrank back in his chair.

"Are you saying," Mac growled, "that there was a woman who survived your master?"

Jones looked up, terror plain on his face.

"Well, not 'survived,'" he said tremblingly, "Because he never actually got to see her."

"Why not?" Mac barked. His eyes bored into Jones', and Jones answered without thinking.

"Because she broke it off with Andries before—before he could bring her to him." Immediately, he seemed to realize what he said and clapped his hands over his mouth once again, his eyes widened in fear. Mac didn't notice. He looked up into the one-way mirror, his face stony. At the same moment, Stella's eyes widened with fear. She involuntarily took a step back. Danny, who had been watching her carefully out of the corner of his eye, tapped twice on the glass. Stella didn't notice. Her mind was racing. Instincts were taking over, telling her to go—_now_.

"I can't do this," Stella muttered. She spun around on her heel and walked out, still feeling Flack and Danny's eyes on her, but Stella didn't care. The door of the interrogation room slammed shut behind her. Moments later, another door opened.

"Stella?" Mac called after her.

"Leave me alone," she mumbled under her breath, quickening her pace. She opened the doors into the madness that was the bull pen. She disappeared into the mass of police officers and criminals, for the first time in her life glad the crime rate was high. She wove around people, headed for the door. She didn't know where she was going to go, and didn't care. She kept her head down, looking up only enough to not bump into people. She didn't cry; the numbness wasn't something that could be dissolved by tears. She just walked, turning occasionally, not paying attention to where she was going but trying so hard to not think. She didn't want to think. She could feel someone following her, but didn't care enough to turn around.

Presently, Stella became aware of trees and guessed she was in Central Park. She sat down numbly on a park bench, her arms folded across her body. It wasn't long before Mac sat down beside her.

"You've been following me," she said tonelessly. Mac nodded.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. Stella nodded.

"Yeah," she said sarcastically. "Everything's fine. Just leave me alone."

Mac nodded, but he didn't leave. Stella looked over at him, annoyed. Didn't he realize that he needed to leave? She wasn't in the mood to talk to him. But he stayed anyway. Presently, Stella's anger faded, leaving everything else: the pain from Patrick's rejection, still fresh after all this time; the fear that she was going to be kidnapped and killed at any moment; the hurt that Mac had gotten involved with Jo; and, most of all, the gnawing, numbing loneliness that she couldn't seem to fight off. They colored Stella's vision, making her see Mac in a different light. What was it he had said?

_It won't happen again unless you want it to_.

Did she want it to happen again? Stella knew without a doubt that the answer was a resounding _yes_. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted him to hold her and never let her go. She also knew that he wouldn't kiss her. If Mac did anything, he kept his word.

She had said she couldn't kiss him again. She saw now that that had been a mistake.

She needed him. She needed him more than he knew. She looked up into his eyes—warm, ageless, gentle eyes filled with genuine worry—and took a deep breath. She straightened up slightly and smiled weakly, putting her hand on his cheek.

"Stel—Stella, what are you doing?" Mac asked, confused.

"Make me forget," Stella whispered desperately, closing her eyes and the distance simultaneously.

As soon as their lips touched, Mac thought he would never be able to break away. Her sweet taste settled on his lips, and he let out a soft moan, hungering for the taste of her. It took everything in his power not to deepen the kiss, to explore every crevice of her sweet mouth, but he forced himself to hold back. He knew Stella was feeling vulnerable, and the last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of her vulnerability. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He resolved to make this kiss as innocent as possible. As soon as he decided this, Stella's tongue brushed against his lips, melting that resolution away. He parted them with no hesitation. She ran her tongue over his teeth, then, almost shyly, explored his mouth. Her tongue rubbed against the roof of his mouth, tracing idle patterns. Someone moaned again –Mac couldn't tell who –and his arms tightened around her. As she withdrew her tongue, she nibbled gently on his lower lip. Mac's fingers found their way into her wonderfully soft hair. Now it was his turn. He traced her full lips with his tongue, and she moaned hungrily and parted them. Mac took his time exploring her mouth, his mouth capturing hers possessively. Their mouths moved in ways that had them both moaning, and a part of Mac was telling him that in her vulnerability, they could go as far as he wanted to. _She'd said to make her forget_, it reminded him maliciously. _You know that you can do that._ The thought was tempting, but Mac held firm. He would not take advantage of her.

The tone of this kiss was different. Stella could feel it. Their last kiss had been hesitation and fear and loneliness, uncertainty, comfort, gentleness. There had been no urgency, no desperation, no vein of defiance running through the kiss. She craved his touch, needed his lips against hers. She needed to forget.

Mac was no longer thinking linearly. Instead, his nervous system was sending him flashes. He could feel her lithe arms clasped around his neck, her fingers in his hair. He felt her warm thigh against his, smelled her sweet perfume, her lips against his, urgently seeking more, more, going deeper…

_Wait a second. What am I _doing_?_ Mac thought suddenly. _Why am I doing this to her, to _myself_, even? We can't do this. _I_ can't do this. It's not right._

He groaned, and Stella, mistaking the groan for something else, turned her head eagerly and thrust her tongue deeper into his mouth, but Mac held firm, gently easing his mouth from hers. He moved his head, resting it on her shoulder. He couldn't refrain from pressing his lips gently to her neck a few times. Stella moaned and trailed kisses up his neck and jaw, searching for his mouth. Mac groaned again, this time willing himself not to lose control.

"Stel –Stella," Mac whispered, his breathing ragged. Stella responded by nibbling gently on his ear, having apparently given up her search for his mouth.

"Stella," Mac murmured again, a tiny bit louder. "No."

Stella pretended not to hear him and continued nibbling on his ear.

"Stella, please," Mac pleaded. She was wearing away the little control he had.

"Why?" Stella pouted. She, too, was breathing hard as she moved her head back to look at him, a fire in her eyes he hadn't seen before. "We both want this to happen. Why not let it?"

"Because," was all Mac could think to say. His brain wasn't working right. His breath was coming in sharp gasps, like he had just finished running a marathon.

"Not good enough," Stella said with an unfamiliarly devilish smile. She leaned forward, but Mac held a finger to her lips just in time. He shook his head.

"One minute, Stella." Stella pouted again, but stopped. She watched as Mac stared off into the distance, not really seeing anything, a peculiar look on his face. Finally, he focused on her again and smiled sadly.

"We can't do this, Stella," he began slowly, "Because I won't let it. I won't let myself take advantage of you. You're hurting, Stella. I know you say you're over Andries, but you're not. He hurt you deeply, and all you want is to make that hurt go away. I—you know how I feel about you," he said, his eyes burning with emotions Stella couldn't identify. He cleared his throat. "You know how I feel about you," he repeated, closing his eyes. "I want to do this, Stella, you have no idea, but I want to do it for the right reasons. I am not Patrick Andries, Stella, and I don't want him to be the reason we do this. When we do this, I want you to only be thinking of me, not some other guy. I don't want you making rash decisions, especially after what you just saw." He shook his head, a bitter smile on his face. "If we did this, there would be consequences I don't think either of us is ready to accept."

"Like what?" Stella asked.

"I think you know, Stella," Mac said softly. Reluctantly, he withdrew his arms from around her and scooted a few inches down the bench. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face with both hands. He didn't look her in the eye.

"It's a bad idea," he said to the ground. Stella was unsure whether he was still talking to her or not.

"What if I don't know?" Stella asked slowly after a second. Mac looked quickly at her. She was staring determinedly at the ground, her chin set resolutely.

"You don't know what the consequences are?" Mac asked disbelievingly. She shook her head.

"No, I know what the consequences are. What if I don't know what your feelings for me are?"

Mac looked at her. His face felt hot. "What?"

"I want to know what your feelings are," Stella said. "I want you to tell me how you feel about me."

Mac looked at her like he didn't know what to say. Almost cautiously, he took her hand and rubbed it between his two.

"How I feel about you," Mac repeated quietly. "Stella, we've been partners for years. You know me better than anyone, maybe even better than I know myself. You've always been there for me, no matter what happened. You helped me when I got engaged to Claire, you were at my wedding, when the terrorists hit the World Trade Center on 9/11, and I didn't know whether –whether Claire was alive or dead, you were one of the first people I called. When I got the news, that—" he swallowed, the words stuck in his throat "—that Claire was dead, you were the first person I told.

"When I got the letter from Peyton, you knew. You showed up at the bar where I play and you were there. You always know if something's bothering me, and you can read me like a book. We've been friends for –for a long time. Your time in New Orleans didn't change any of that." Mac looked up and met her eyes, his eyes blazing with determination. "Stella, I –" his eyes widened as he drew his gun. "Stella, watch out!"

Stella turned and screamed. There was a man in a ski mask two feet behind her. She ducked as he made a grab at her. She slid off the bench and stood up as the man tried again. He grabbed at her arm, but she drew a long scratch down his arm and he yelled out in pain. She drew her own gun as a shot whizzed by her ear. The man cried out, clutching his shoulder and staggering backwards as blood spurted out between his fingers. Stella kicked him, hard, in the ribs, and he fell to the ground.

"You got him?" she asked Mac. He didn't answer, but Stella heard the sound of punches landing and turned just in time to see another masked man punch Mac in the stomach. Mac responded by elbowing him in the nose. There was a sickening crack, and blood began to flow freely. That didn't stop the man from aiming a right hook at Mac's head. Mac dodged it and tackled him at the waist, grabbing his head as it slammed into the ground. The man kicked and punched, but Mac was too fast. One kick to the knee had the man groaning in pain. Stella heard movement behind her and spun around to defend herself, but instead of seeing the other man about to attack her again, he was getting to his feet.

"Forget it," he yelled at Mac's attacker. "Get the hell out of here."

The other didn't need to be told twice. He got up and ran away with his partner. They disappeared as quickly as they'd come. Stella looked at Mac. Both were breathing hard again.

"What," Stella gasped, "the _hell_ was that?"

Mac shook his head, looking furious. He strode over to her and grabbed her wrist, taking his phone out of his pocket as he did so.

"Hey," he said into it. "I need a—What? No, I got her, she's fine, but I need a patrol car to our location now. Someone just attacked us, and there's no way in hell we're walking back. It's not safe. What? No, I'm fine, she's fine, but we need an escort back to the precinct." he listened intently for a second. "Okay. Thanks." He hung up.

"Squad car's about a minute out," he reported to Stella. He shook his head angrily. "Dammit, Stella, this is why I didn't want you going out anywhere until we got this guy. See what happens?" he said, gesturing to the two of them.

"Oh, well, then, I'm sorry I lost control when I heard that my ex-boyfriend was a serial killer's apprentice, and that given a chance, he would have taken me to my certain death," Stella returned. "It won't happen again, I promise." She jerked her wrist out of his hand and began to walk away.

"Stella, wait," Mac said. He sighed as she turned around.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's just, I almost lost you. I… I don't want that to happen. So, please, just please, let's keep you safe, okay?" he put a protective arm around her shoulder. Stella nodded.

"Okay," she said. She looked up at him and winced. "Oh, Mac, look at you!"

"What?" Mac asked.

Stella bit her lip. "Its—it's your face," she said reluctantly. Mac looked at her disdainfully, but not unkindly.

"What about it?" he asked defensively. Stella laughed gently.

"The other guy got a few shots in," she said kindly. That was an understatement. In addition to the cut and bruise from earlier, Mac was now sporting an ugly-looking black eye, and a shadow was forming under his chin. His lip had split, and blood now trickled down his chin.

"Oh, yeah?" he returned with a smile. "Well, you're not looking too good, yourself."

"You're probably right," Stella agreed. "I'm definitely gonna feel this one tomorrow."

Mac chuckled. An approaching siren made him look around.

"I think that's us. Come on," he said. His hand slipped down her back to rest protectively at her waist. He escorted her to the sidewalk just as a black-and-white pulled up, siren screaming. Mac held the door of the cruiser open for her, scanning the park critically for any signs of their attackers. Stella ducked in and scooted over to make room for Mac. He slid in casually, shutting the door securely behind him.

"Take us to the precinct," Mac instructed the uniformed officer. He nodded, and the car pulled away from the curb.

"You do know that this means you won't be going anywhere without a protective detail, right?" Mac said casually. Stella nodded, grimacing.

"Oh, come on, it won't be that bad," Mac said teasingly.

"Yeah, I love having a babysitter," Stella said sarcastically. Mac smiled.

"It's for your own good," he said gently. Stella pursed her lips, but she said nothing.

"I guess," she finally relented. Mac nodded, a grim sort of smile on his face. Their eyes met, and Stella saw the fear and worry she felt reflected back in his eyes. He took hold of her hand, as if without thinking, and she looked down, breaking eye contact. He looked down as well, then held up their hands.

"Hey, did you scratch one of the guys who attacked us?" he asked. Stella shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. Mac held up her hand closer to the light from the window.

"I think you did," he said.

"Excellent," Stella said. "DNA."

"Yup," Mac said, a trace of a smile on his face. "Good job, Stel." He surprised her by gently kissing her cheek. She smiled.

"Don't," she said with a hint of a giggle. "When they process us, they'll find that."

"What makes you think we're getting processed?"

"We're evidence," Stella said. "We got attacked by two men that are almost certainly connected to a serial killer."

Mac smiled a small smile. "Well, in that case, we're screwed anyway," he said.

Stella considered this, then laughed.

"I guess you're right," she said finally.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **So remember when I said I'd be updating in a few days? apparently, I lied. No, I didn't lie, I just got SWAMPED with RL and I wanted to edit it a few times before I published it. So here it is, "a few days" later. Enjoy! Sorry about that! there will be a delay in between this chapter and the next, as I have medical facts I need to check. But anyway, Enjoy!

Back at the precinct, Danny and Flack were discussing what they had just seen.

"I don't understand. Why'd he react like that?" Danny said, meaning Mac.

"I don't know," Flack said. He shook his head. "That was crazy, though. I haven't seen Stella that upset since… hell, I haven't seen Stella that upset," he admitted.

"What about the night she killed Frankie?" Danny reminded him. Flack shook his head again with a shudder.

"No, this was worse. Stella was crying, angry, and in shock then. She didn't know what had happened to her, she was afraid, but she wasn't—" he gesticulated silently, seemingly unable to find the words to describe it.

"She just left," Danny said helpfully. "She didn't even say anything, just left."

"Yeah, yeah," Flack said dismissively, "But the look on her face—it was like—"

"—dead," Danny finished for him. "Yeah. I know. Sort of just—blank. Nothing on there."

Flack nodded. "What was it about? Do you know?" he asked Danny. Danny shook his head. "Beats me."

"And why did Mac react almost the same way?" Flack wondered aloud. Danny shrugged.

"Maybe it's something that they're both connected to. An old case or something."

"Something," Flack said, nodding. His phone rang. He checked the screen.

"Hey, it's Mac," Flack said to Danny. He answered it. "Yeah, it's me. Did you find Stella?" He listened for a second, his eyes darkening and his expression becoming stony.

"_What_? Are you guys all right?" he asked darkly. There was a pause, and then Flack covered the receiver with his hand.

"Danny!" he said. "Tell someone to get a squad car to Mac and Stella's location. They're in Central Park, closest to us." Danny nodded, flipping out his cell and radioing Dispatch. After relaying the information, Danny looked at Flack. "The closest squad car's a minute out," he said. Flack relayed the news to Mac and hung up almost immediately.

"What the hell happened?" Danny demanded. Flack looked over at him, his expression murderous.

"Someone attacked Stella and Mac," he said flatly. Danny looked at him in disbelief.

"What?" he said incredulously. Flack nodded, looking pissed. "Why?"

"Hell if I know," Flack said. "We'll have to ask them when they get back."

"They're coming here?"

"Yeah. They're filing a report."

"What, they didn't get the guys?"

"I don't know, he didn't say. We'll see when they get here," Flack said. "In the meantime, I'm gonna talk to Jones in there, see what he can tell us about what just happened.

"Good idea." Danny followed Flack into the interrogation room.

"All right, Mr. Jones, you mind telling me what the hell just happened?" Flack said, banging the door open with a fist. Jones jumped.

"I don't know," Jones said immediately. "Depends on what happened."

"Oh, you don't know?" Flack said with mock surprise. He looked over at Danny. "He doesn't know, apparently," he told him.

"Oh, I doubt that," Danny said with an animalistic smile.

"I don't. What happened?" Jones asked.

"Ah, come on, buddy, don't play with us, now. Who'd you call? Who'd you set on them?"

"What? Who's 'them'?"

"Maybe he doesn't know," Danny suggested. Flack shook his head. "Nah, he knows. He's just not talking, are ya, buddy?" He hit Jones's shoulder in a pseudo-affectionate manner. He flinched, then looked up at the two detectives.

"No, I just have no freaking clue what's going on," Jones said.

"Oh, you don't? Let me fill you in, then," Flack said, leaning down and getting in Jones's face. "Two of my detectives were just attacked in Central Park. That sound familiar to you?"

"What? No!"

"You're lying to me. Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying, I swear!" he squeaked. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"What about your master, then, huh?" Flack leaned down closer, his nose inches from Jones's. "Would he have anything to do with two of my best detectives being attacked?"

Jones appeared to think very hard. "It's possible," Jones said finally, looking nervously at the two detectives. "He—he could be behind that. Are they okay?" he asked. Flack glowered at him and didn't reply.

"They'll live," Danny said.

"The same remains to be seen for you," Flack growled. His phone vibrated again: a text from Mac.

"Stay," Flack ordered Jones. He looked over at Danny and jerked his head towards the door. Danny nodded and they both left the interrogation room.

"It's from Mac," Flack said. He scanned it quickly and looked up. "They're going to be here in five minutes. He wants you to bring your kit."

"What?" Danny said. "My whole kit?"

"He didn't specify, so I guess. You wanna just meet me out there?" Flack asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Tell you what, I'll set some stuff up in interrogation B and meet you right out there, okay?"

Flack shrugged and made his way out of the precinct. He hung around outside for a few minutes, waiting for the patrol car that held Mac and Stella. He finally spotted it coming down the street—Dispatch had radioed him its call number—and looked around for Danny, who he spotted coming out the door. He got Danny's attention and waved him over.

"You got 'em?" Flack asked.

"The basics, anyway. The rest is back in the truck."Danny held up a mini-kit of sorts: tweezers, an instrument used to scrape under a victim's fingernails, and small evidence bags, among other things.

"They here yet?" Flack nodded in the direction of the approaching squad car.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Danny asked. Come on." They walked together towards the car. It slowed to a stop, and the uniformed officer driving it hopped out of the front seat, going around the car to open the door like a chauffeur. Mac got out first, looking like hell. He was bloody and beaten, and he wore a grim expression that meant nothing good could come out of what had happened. He got out and then helped Stella—who looked just as beaten—out, giving her a hand and then, once she had gotten out, putting his arm around her protectively.

"Come on, we'll do this inside," Mac barked. "Cover Stella and me." He hustled Stella into the precinct, looking around as though he expected to be attacked any minute. Flack and Danny automatically flanked Stella and Mac, and the group moved quickly and in unison into the precinct. Once they were inside, they moved to the back of the bull pen and took up Interrogation room B. Flack was the first to break the unnatural and grim silence that had settled over them.

"All right, Mac, what the hell happened?" he demanded. "Why do you look like that?"

"Well—Danny, scrape Stella's nails first, she's got skin from one of the attackers under it—we were—"

"Talking," Stella interrupted unceremoniously. "I was upset because, well, I… knew Patrick Andries."

"Stop right there," Flack said, looking from Mac to Stella in a kind of outraged disbelief. "You _knew him_? Knew him how?"

Stella shot a quick glance at Mac. "We worked together, actually," she said, silently begging Mac to not mention their relationship. Mac gave her the tiniest of nods. "He worked at the NOLA Crime Lab under me."

"Really? And when he died, you didn't do anything about it?"

"I had fired him by that point, actually. I didn't know he was in New York, and no one at the lab knew he had been murdered." She hung her head in false shame, not meeting Flack's eye. "I should have said something before, I'm sorry."

Flack looked at Mac, who met his gaze steadily. "Did you know about this?" he asked. Mac nodded.

"She told me, yes. But she assured me that it wouldn't affect her work."

"It won't," Stella assured Flack. "We –we weren't that close."

Flack narrowed his eyes. "Yeah?" he asked. "Why did you fire him?"

Stella looked up at him, feeling her hackles rise. "I don't see how that matters," she said defensively.

"I'm just curious," Flack said with a calculated smile.

"It's not pertinent, but his dependency had declined along with the quality of his work. He'd shown up hung-over several times. When he showed up drunk, I fired him," she said smoothly, looking over at Mac apologetically. Danny finished scraping her fingernails and began looking her over for Trace.

"You've got something right here," he said, pointing at her neck. She shot another look at Mac, who nodded calmly again, though his eyes were tight. She gave a tiny sigh and tilted her head back. She and Mac were going to catch hell when the results of _that_ came back.

"Got it," Danny said almost cheerfully. He looked over her coat.

"You've got a hair right here," he said, tweezing it away. "And a fiber on your shoulder there."

"Uh, Danny, she'll give you her clothes," Mac said dryly. "Swab and photograph those bruises."

"Yup," Danny said absently, looking at Stella's head. "You got something in your hair, there," he said to Stella. "Can you let it down?"

"Sure," Stella said, sliding out the ponytail holder she'd hastily pulled her hair into that morning. She dropped it into the evidence bag Danny held out. Danny gently untangled whatever it was from her hair and dropped it into a vial. He held it up to the light.

"What is that?" she wondered aloud.

"I don't know, but you've got spatter on your cheek, and I'm out of swabs and evidence bags. I'm going to go get my kit." He straightened up. "I'll be right back." He turned on his heel and left the interrogation room. The door closed behind him, and Flack turned back to Stella.

"So you knew him," he said expectantly.

"Yes. I knew him, I fired him, and that's all that needs to be said on the subject," Stella said testily. "Now stop interrogating me."

They locked eyes, Flack looking searchingly, Stella giving him nothing.

"Why are you so defensive?" Flack asked.

"Let it go," she suggested, narrowing her eyes.

"Flack," Mac said lightly, but with an air of a warning, "Let it go."

"Well, I'm getting the feeling that there's more to the story here," Flack shot back.

"There is," Mac said. "But it's not pertinent, like she said, so let it go. Can you call over to the lab, have them send over some clothes?"

"What about for me?" Stella asked, finally breaking eye contact with Flack as she looked over at Mac.

"Don't worry, I have a shirt you can borrow," Mac said without thinking. Both Flack and Stella looked at him, appalled for different reasons. Mac felt his cheeks heat up.

"Um, and I'm sure Lindsay won't mind lending you a pair of sweatpants or –or something," he added. Flack's lips twitched, and Stella felt herself flush.

"I'm sure I'll figure out something," she said, looking anywhere but the two men standing before her.

"Yeah," Flack said with a hint of a snigger, "I'm sure you will." Stella shot him a murderous glance, but he was spared by Danny's return. With him was a harried-looking detective.

"Hey, guys," Danny said, completely oblivious to what had just happened between the three of them. "This guy needs the interrogation room. Can we take this back to the lab?"

"Sure," Mac said, standing up quickly. "Give us five minutes, and we'll be out of your way."

The detective nodded and walked out without a word. The four detectives stared at each other.

"We'll be going to the lab, right?" Stella asked to break the silence.

"Yeah," Danny said absently. He was looking at the three other detectives, comprehension dawning.

"Did I miss something?" he asked slowly. Flack and Mac, whose eyes were locked on each other, looked at him. Mac recovered first.

"No," he replied, smoothly shifting his features to a more neutral expression. "Come on. Let's go." He rose from his seat on the table without a word and began collecting evidence bags. Stella rose to help, and after they had been carefully been stored away in Danny's kit, Danny led the way out of the room. Stella was the second one out, followed by Mac, who put his hand on the small of her back protectively as soon as they had room to walk side by side. Flack brought up the rear, surveying the couple in front of him surreptitiously. Something about the way Stella had reacted when he asked about Andries was bugging him, and the way Mac had so quickly come to her defense was nagging at him, too. He narrowed his eyes and resolved to watch the two of them more closely over the following days.

XXXXX

Lindsay was waiting for them when they stepped off the elevator at the lab, holding a pair of sweatpants and looking confused.

"I got your text. What happened? Why did I need these?" she asked Danny as he stepped off. Danny just gestured behind him as he went to set up in an empty Trace lab. Lindsay followed his gesture and saw Mac, with his arm protectively wrapped around Stella's face. Her eyebrows disappeared behind her bangs, and she twitched a small, knowing smile in Stella's direction.

Stella shot her a warning look, and Mac looked at Lindsay, alarmed, before glancing at Stella. Flack saw all of this and narrowed his eyes. He glanced at Lindsay, but she was still looking at Mac and Stella.

"Guess I know why you need these," she said, lifting up the sweatpants in a half-gesture. "I'll go get you a shirt, too, but I'm warning you—"

"It's quite all right, Lindsay, we've got the shirt covered," Mac interrupted her smoothly. He began leading Stella towards the Trace lab where Danny was waiting. Lindsay looked after them, a confused look on her face. At once, she began to smile. The smile blossomed into a wide grin, which soon became a giggle. Stella heard her and turned her head long enough to shoot her a pleading please-don't look. Lindsay grinned even harder, but covered her mouth to stifle her laughter as she nodded to show that she understood.

"The pants are gonna be on your desk," she called, waving to Stella cheerfully. Stella rolled her eyes and let Danny process her. Among other things, he swabbed her spattered cheek, found more trace on her hand, and finally declared her clean. Meanwhile, some techs had erected a changing room for her to change in: circular, with a curtain that closed, and a white sheet of butcher paper to catch any Trace that might have fallen off. She changed into the scrubs they handed her, careful not to shake the clothes too much as she handed them to the female tech on the other side of the curtain to put into an evidence bag.

Mac watched the whole process, giving Stella sympathetic looks whenever Danny swabbed anything on her face or neck. He wished he could comfort her, ease the stressed look in her eyes and the guilty hunch of her shoulders. When she came out of the changing area, wearing the thin scrubs they had provided her and a slight frown, he smiled sympathetically.

"The extra shirt is in my locker," Mac said. "Take the green one, okay?"

She nodded, still frowning. "Thanks," she said. Mac put a hand on her shoulder.

"Its okay, Stell," Mac said softly, for only her to hear. She didn't say anything, only gave him a guilty glance as she shrugged off his hand.

"But what if—" Stella didn't finish.

"Then we'll deal with it. There's nothing that says two people from two different crime labs in two different states can't be involved," Mac said gently. She looked at him sadly.

"Go get changed," Mac suggested gently. She nodded.

"Okay," she sighed, her brow furrowed while she worried about the results. It was unprofessional, and it would do them no good to get involved. She had messed up again, kissing Mac. She couldn't do it again. And yet, there was a small part of her that didn't mind and didn't care that she was—how had he put it?—getting involved with him. But Stella resolved to stand firm. It wasn't going to work. They lived in different states, too far away for it to work. She frowned at the hollowness she felt when she thought of it, but it needed to be done. For her sake and his. She sighed. She was back at her office now, and she grabbed the pants. It didn't need to be difficult; she just had to be careful.

She reached the locker room and almost ran into an intern on his way out as she went in.

"Sorry," she murmured. The man just nodded. She made her way to Mac's locker and pulled open the door. She wasn't surprised to find not one, but two changes of clothes hanging neatly in his locker, covered in bags from the cleaner's. She found the shirt and carefully removed it from its wrappings, then shed her awful scrubs and began to change.

She put the shirt on, smiling slightly when she smelled Mac's shirt. It was an olive green button-down, and it fell halfway down her thighs, revealing a little more of her legs than she was used to. She tried it on with Lindsay's pants, but it looked weird, and they didn't fit, so she took them off and buttoned all but the top two buttons and rolled up the sleeves to her elbows, making a dress out of the shirt. She'd give the pants to Lindsay later, and thank her.

_Thank God I shaved this morning_, she thought. She wished she had a pair of nylons or leggings at the very least, but the only thing she had was a pair of sleek black pumps. She'd put them into her bag when she'd left New Orleans, and luckily hadn't taken them out. But they were in her temporary office. She'd have to walk barefoot to get to them. She padded, barefoot, to her temporary office, holding Lindsay's pants. She set them down on her desk and went to her bag, pulling out the pumps and putting them on. Her feet felt strange inside of them, with no nylons.

"Here, try these." Something landed with a gentle thud on her desk, and she looked up. Lindsay was standing there, her arms crossed over her chest and an expectant smile on her face. The thing on her desk was a small plastic bubble, the kind cheap toys in the quarter machines were dispensed in, but instead of a faux-metal ring or a plastic dinosaur, there was a brown object inside of them.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Nylons," Lindsay said. "I figured you might need them. The drugstore down the street has them for like a buck. I thought you'd be wearing my pants, though," she added.

"Yeah, I tried. They didn't fit too well, and they looked terrible with the shirt," Stella said apologetically.

"It's okay," Lindsay said. "It looks cute, how you did that. Whose shirt is that? Mac's?"

"Yeah," she said. Lindsay grinned, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, be quiet," Stella said with a forced laugh. Her cheeks felt hot. Lindsay's mouth dropped.

"Oh, my gosh," she said. "You guys are—"

"No," Stella cut her off quickly. "No, it's not what you think."

Lindsay grinned again, wider. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"No," Stella protested weakly. Lindsay laughed.

"Don't worry," she said. "You'll be fine. I won't tell anyone."

"There's nothing to tell," Stella tried. Lindsay fixed her with a look, but Stella was saved by Mac, who walked in her office at precisely that moment. He, too, had changed, and was now wearing a charcoal suit with an oyster-colored shirt and no tie.

"There you are, Stella," Mac said, looking relieved. "I was looking for you, wanted to make sure you found it okay."

"Yup," Stella said with a smile. Mac's mouth, however, slipped into a frown.

"They got too close, Stella," he said. "I'm assigning you a police detail." He turned around and beckoned someone forward. A uniformed police officer came into view. He had the brawn of an ex-football player, his uniform restraining well-defined muscles, a broad chest, and almost no neck. His tanned, boyish features seemed to belie the seriousness of his expression, although his eyes, deep set but wide, seemed to reflect ages of hard work and hard times. He smiled, though, and stuck out a hand.

"Officer James Roma, at your service, ma'am," he said in a deep bass voice that seemed to mismatch his face almost as much as his expression.

Stella shook his hand. "I'm Detective Stella Bonasera, NOLAPD Crime Scene Unit."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am. Let's hope I can keep you safe," he said tightly. Then he stepped over to the door and stood watch, looking official. Stella stifled a grin and turned to Mac. She found him staring at her, or rather, his shirt.

"Where are Lindsay's pants? Mac asked. Lindsay, who had not moved from her spot by the desk, except to lean against it, rubbing her stomach absently as she watched the scene, held them up.

"Right here," she said. "They didn't fit."

"Oh," Mac said. He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the ends of his shirt for just a moment too long. "So you got creative."

"Yeah," she said shyly, almost forgetting Lindsay and Roma's presence. Almost. "Like it?"

"Yeah," Mac admitted. He cleared his throat, his eyes drawn, almost magnetically, back to her makeshift hemline. She saw his eyes begin to travel almost lazily down her legs before he remembered himself and dragged them back to her face. "Anyway, I just wanted to introduce you to Officer Roma, see how you were doing."

"I'm doing fine," Stella said carefully.

"You feeling better about things?" he asked, his eyes only on her.

She nodded. Then she cleared her throat and turned to Lindsay. "Thanks for the nylons, Linds; that was a smart move. We'll talk later, okay?" she said nervously. She looked at Mac. "You, too. I have more work to do."

Mac's lips twitched a frown, but the look she gave him had him backing casually out of her office, nodding. Lindsay, however, didn't move.

"Stella, I don't know who you're trying to fool," she said with a small, sad smile. "You, him, us… regardless, it's not working. Take a chance."

"Linds, I can't deal with that right now," Stella said irritably, but softly.

"Yeah, well, you might not get another chance to." And with one final, sad look at her, Lindsay left her alone.

Stella sighed irritably, walking to close the door. Then she shut the blinds on the window, ordered James outside, and put on the nylons that, in the end, had been more trouble than she felt they warranted.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N**: I feel terrible. I said I was going to update in "a few days" and a month or two later... :/ I'm sorry, dear readers. Do not hate me and not read this chapter. I got crazy busy with RL stuff, which is a lame excuse at best and a shit-poor one at worst. I haven't even had a CHANCE to-well, no, that's not true, I have had a chance, I just haven't. My apologies. And since I'm in an apologizing mood, I must apologize for this chapter a little bit. I really don't feel like it's my best, but I do hope you at least try to enjoy it anyway. I did try to fix it, but it still just feels... well, meh. Very meh.

The storyline might be a little bit (read: more than a little bit) confusing, and if you get confused, either PM me or wait for the next few chapters. I do apologize for the wait. And any confusion.

And for those of you still reading "Am I Too Old For This?", I... I'm trying. I don't want to update another chapter STILL not about them being in NOLA, and I want it to have some considerable stuff in it, so... I'm trying.

Humbly apologetic,

Brii Taylor

* * *

><p>By 10:00 that night, Dawson Jones had been arraigned and released on $100,000 bond. His bail had been posted anonymously, and he disappeared within an hour, but neither Stella nor Mac knew this. The rest of the night was fairly uneventful. Mac let Stella use the bathroom first, as usual. He sat in the armchair facing the TV and turned on the news. Presently, he heard Stella come out of the bathroom. He turned off the TV and stood up, stretching slightly. Stella moved across the room and put her things back in her bag, draping Mac's shirt over the back of the couch. Then she walked over to Mac and hugged him. It took him by surprise, but he smiled anyway and hugged her back.<p>

"Good night, Mac," she said, smiling back up at him.

"Good night, Stella," he replied. In the future, when he thought back to that moment, Mac would kick himself for not saying more, for not doing more. He would berate himself for his cowardice and would never forgive himself for what happened that night. He turned and walked into his bedroom, once again tired. He removed his clothes and got into bed, sighing and yawning. He closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

For the next three hours, the occupants of the Taylor residence slept in relative peace, both deeply asleep; so deeply asleep, in fact, that they didn't hear the black van pull up in the alley underneath his window. The van held two people: a driver and his apprentice. His _new_ apprentice. The old one had outlived his usefulness and had thus been disposed of. In the following days, the NYPD would find his body and discover that Dawson Jones, like his predecessor, had been murdered at the hands of his master. They would add his case to the pile sitting on Mac's desk, waiting for justice to be served. But for now, the body remained undiscovered, and the master and his apprentice lay in wait. After the lights in the windows went out, the master and his apprentice waited one hour before going into the apartment and taking what was rightfully theirs.

Unbeknownst to what was coming, Stella slept. She didn't hear them sneak down the hall, didn't know when the apprentice picked Mac's lock, didn't hear them ease open the door. But she heard when the apprentice stepped on a spot in Mac's floor that creaked. She sat bolt upright, twisting around to see who had entered. She spotted the master.

"Hey! What are you doing?" she yelled. The master shot a murderous glance at his apprentice. Their prey turned around and spotted his apprentice. The master watched coldly as comprehension dawned on her.

"Oh, my god," she said. She seemed to freeze, temporarily unable to move, and didn't notice the master nod. The apprentice stepped forward and tried to subdue her. His prey unfroze and reacted, aiming a fist at the man's side. She missed and hit a lamp, which crashed to the floor. This awoke a man, who would come running out seconds later, a gun in his hand. What he wasn't expecting was the master to be waiting for him. The master pulled out his own gun, a revolver, and cold-cocked him before he had a chance to react. He crumpled.

"MAC!" the prey cried. She fought harder, but now the master advanced on her, a syringe uncapped and aimed at her chest. His apprentice managed to subdue her, pinning her arms to the couch while the master delivered an injection of propofol. Meanwhile, the man who was Mac watched helplessly from the floor, dazed from the blow to his head.

"Stella! No!" he mumbled dazedly, anger and frustration coloring his voice. The prey stopped struggling in seconds, and the apprentice hoisted her over his shoulder. Then, to the man's apparent horror, he simply walked out, shutting the door behind him. The master, however, stayed behind. He looked down at the man who had tried to hide his prey. He was sitting with his back against the wall, eyes unfocused but rage etched into his features. The master felt the gun, cool and heavy in his hand, and regarded the man, turning his head slightly to the side, a small smile playing on his lips. He took a step forward, out of the man's line of vision, and knelt down. He held the gun up to the man's temple, laughing softly as the man struggled for words.

"What are you waiting for?" the man finally managed harshly. "Do it."

The master chuckled humorlessly. "No."

He stood up, trading the gun for a small object. He set it on the table and walked out wordlessly.

"Stella! God DAMMIT!" Mac yelled, pounding his fist into the floor. He stood up with some effort and staggered to the telephone sitting on the nearby table. He remembered his police scanner—somewhere in his bedroom. He turned his head from side to side, desperately trying to get his bearings and remember where his bedroom door was, but the room was spinning and he couldn't find it, so he grabbed the cordless phone and dialed 911. He tried to remember Flack's number and found he couldn't.

"Fuck…" he swore under his breath. The only number he had committed to memory was Stella's, or at least, that was the only number he could remember. He gave up and called 911. He told the operator the situation, and then instructed her to call Detective Flack. The woman complied and offered to stay on the line with him until help arrived, but Mac declined, shortly.

He gave the operator his address and hung up the phone. His apartment spun lazily about him, giving the impression that his living room was some perverse carousel, and he fell to the floor. He tried to crawl to the door, but the carousel took a strange veer when he tried to move, so he forced himself upright and rested his head against the wall unwillingly, closing his eyes and waiting for Flack to arrive.

The pounding at the door came within minutes, but to Mac they felt like hours, lifetimes in which he was helpless to do anything for Stella. His mind raced ahead of him, replaying the incident for him over and over, torturing him with thoughts of what they were surely doing to her now, speculation as to where they would take her, where he would find her body. He wondered idly whether he'd ever see her again, dead or alive, and the very thought brought tears to his eyes. He put a hand over his shut eyes and mentally shook himself. He forced himself to listen for the sound of police sirens. He could hear them in the distance and waited impatiently. The pounding came, and Mac could hear Flack's voice through the door: "NYPD! Open the door! Mac, you in there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. It…it might not be locked. Just…just try it," Mac called back. He squeezed his eyes closed and opened them again in an attempt to stop the room from relentlessly rocking back and forth. He started feeling sick to his stomach. He heard the doorknob rattle.

"No good," Flack called. "Why can't you just let us in?"

"Kick the damn door in, then," Mac yelled, ignoring the question. Flack responded almost immediately, and Mac would have winced if he'd seen the way the molding splintered away, but he didn't.

"Mac? Where are you?" Flack called. Mac raised a hand dully.

"Over here."

"Jesus, Mac," Flack said, walking over and offering him a hand. Mac stood up and fell immediately into Flack's shoulder.

"Whoa, hey," Flack said, steadying Mac. "What happened?"

"They took her, Don," Mac growled. "They took her, and carried her away, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it." He looked at Flack, or rather, near him; he seemed to be having trouble controlling his eyes, and Flack saw the beginnings of insanity creep into his colleague's eyes. "I want everyone on this. We can't let them get away. We can't stand aside while they kill a cop, do you understand me?" Flack nodded, and Mac slumped unsteadily back down against the wall, covering his face with his hands.

"Mac, it's okay, we'll find her," Don said calmly, smoothly concealing his growing concern that Mac had lost it. Mac looked up at a spot just to the left of him, shooting daggers meant for Flack out of his eyes.

"It is most certainly _not_ okay," Mac snapped. "I was supposed to be watching her, her detail was supposed to be watching her, and he didn't, and I didn't. Where…" he blinked and drew in a sharp breath as a sudden wave of intense dizziness and nausea washed over him, "where is her detail, anyway?" he asked, looking around savagely as though he expected him to be standing there. Flack coughed.

"We found him outside in his squad car," Flack said lightly. "He's unconscious."

"Drugged?" Mac guessed. Flack nodded.

"Dammit," Mac growled. "Flack, we have to find her."

"Mac, you need to have EMS check you out," Flack said, changing the subject abruptly, but Mac shook his head.

"I'm fine."

"No, you most definitely are not," Flack said firmly. "You are getting checked out."

"I'm fine," Mac insisted.

"Nope. You're not arguing. You're a victim; I have to follow standard procedure."

"I told you, _I'm fine_."

"You're visibly bleeding, can't stand up on your own, and you haven't looked me in the eye since I got here. Mac, you're most definitely _not_ okay, and we're gonna get you checked out," Flack said calmly.

"I'm fine, Danny!" Mac yelled. Flack looked at him expectantly. Finally, Mac's shoulders slumped.

"Flack. I meant to say Flack," Mac offered weakly. Flack shook his head.

"You need medical attention," he said, waving a paramedic over. "And if you try to resist, I swear to God I will handcuff you to a stretcher and make them take you to the hospital."

Mac opened his mouth to argue, but Flack took out his handcuffs and waved them menacingly in his face. Begrudgingly, Mac relented. The paramedic knelt down next to him.

"What's your name?" the paramedic asked efficiently, examining his head. Mac sighed.

"Detective Mac Taylor."

"What happened?"

"I got hit in the head."

"Clearly," the medic responded dryly. "What I mean is, how did it happen?"

"I ran out of my bedroom because I heard a commotion and got hit as I entered the living room."

"With what?"

"I didn't see."

"How do you feel?"

"Like hell." He really did. He dropped his head forward onto his knees in an attempt to gain a handle on his increasing nausea. He felt as though he would throw up any minute. His head pounded relentlessly, and he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep.

"Did you get knocked out?" the medic asked him.

"No, I don't think so."

"Do you know where you are right now?"

Mac looked up and glared at the medic. "In my…" he had to force the word past some sort of barrier in his brain, "…apartment." He dropped his head back down and closed his eyes. The medic gave him a little shake on his shoulder.

"Hey, you ok?"

Mac weakly nodded his head.

"You got to talk to me, Detective. What's going on?" the medic asked.

Mac took a shuddering breath and sat up straight, leaning his head against the wall and pulling himself together. "My head's killing me," he said.

"You feeling sick to your stomach?" the medic asked.

"Yes," Mac said reluctantly.

"Dizzy?"

"Yes," he said sullenly in frustration, knowing his fate was sealed. The last thing he wanted to do was be stuck in a hospital, waiting for CAT scans and inevitably to be told by a doctor that he shouldn't go back to work. Like hell that the latter was going to happen.

"Feel free to elaborate, Detective."

It took him a second to realize the medic was still talking to him. He moved his mouth for a second, trying to get the words to come out.

"Loss—loss of balance," he began, closing his eyes, trying to concentrate. He twitched a finger towards Flack. "Memory and, uh, concentration problems—" he was interrupted by a yawn and grunted in frustration, "—fatigue, and it smells like peaches and I can taste iron, so I guess changes in smell and taste." The unpleasant feeling in his stomach intensified suddenly, and he doubled over, groaning as his head pounded harder in the sudden movement, gagging at the same time. The medic stepped nimbly back, and Flack passed him something just in time to catch his puke.

"You forgot irritability," Flack added when he was done. Mac glared at him and he grinned insolently.

"Uh-huh, sounds like a concussion to me," the EMT said as she felt his pulse and breathing. "How long have you had the headache?"

"Since I got hit in the head."

"Your sarcasm is noted, Detective. Is that the cut you got?"

"What cut?" Mac asked. The paramedic touched his head briefly, and Mac felt a twinge of pain. She showed him her glove. There was blood on it.

"I don't know. Probably from whatever the guy hit me with," Mac said irritably. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Do you remember what happened before and after you got hit?" the EMT asked as she cleaned the blood off his face and around the cut with an alcohol pad.

"Yes." Mac winced at the pain of the slight pressure on the growing hematoma beneath his cut, trying to focus on her nametag. He couldn't.

"Detective…"

Mac blinked slowly, trying to bring things into focus. "I… I woke up because I heard a commotion in my living room. Grabbed my gun and went to check it out. I…stepped out of my bedroom, got hit and…went down. Two men drugged my Stella and carried her out." He deliberately left out the taunt that the man had left him with, how he had stood over him, put the gun to his head, but didn't pull the trigger. It was as if the man had wanted to let Mac know that he could have killed him, but had, in his distorted mind, somehow showed him mercy. He couldn't bring himself to say the words, but the memory burned brightly in his mind, as if it had been branded to his brain.

"My Stella?" the EMT asked. Flack grinned and Mac froze.

"What? Oh. I meant… Stella, my partner," he amended hastily, slurring Stella's name as the pounding in his head increased.

"How long have the two of you been partners?" the medic asked as she folded a gauze pad in quarters and placed it over Mac's still oozing laceration, wrapping gauze wrap around his head to hold it in place.

"About twenty years."

"Mac, that's not true," Flack interrupted. He turned to the EMT. "Detective Bonasera was NYPD until June of 2010, when she was promoted and transferred to the head of the crime lab in New Orleans."

"Okay, my _ex_-partner, then," Mac muttered, glaring at Flack.

"Well Detective," the medic said, "That cut is going need stitches, and you've got at least a concussion going on. Which hospital would you like us to take you to?"

"I'll be fine."

"I'm sure you will be," the medic said dryly with a smile, "But you still need to go to the hospital. So, which hospital?"

Mac opened his mouth to argue again, saw the look on Flack's face and the handcuffs still dangling from Flack's forefinger, thought better of it, and shut it again, exhaling heavily through his nose.

"Queen of Mercy."

"All right," the medic said. He stood up with help from the paramedic and lay down on the stretcher. It actually felt really good to lie down. His head spun, and he shut his eyes, his mind drifting to Stella once again. It stayed focused on Stella while the ambulance drove to the hospital, while a doctor stitched up his head wound, and while he gave his statement and a description of the kidnappers to Flack. He was diagnosed with a grade II concussion and treated for the cut. They wanted to keep him overnight, but Mac said he was fine, and after the CT came back negative, they reluctantly let him go. As soon as he was released, he took the subway to the crime lab (he wasn't allowed to drive, and despite his insistence on being released, still felt decidedly shaky, and Flack had gone to fill out a missing person's report and fill in the team) and went back to work. As he stepped off the elevator, he caught sight of Adam.

"Adam!" he called. Adam turned and walked over.

"Hey boss, how you—"

"We don't have time, Adam, what have you got?"

"Well, we took the description you gave to Flack and put out a BOLO."

"Tall, Caucasian male, powerful build, mid to late 50's, white hair, dark eyes, deeply tanned skin, ring on his right middle finger?"

"Yup."

"Accompanied by a medium height, medium build redhead, pale skin, freckles, green eyes, large, beak-like nose and a scar on his left cheek?"

"Yes."

"Any hits yet?"

"No."

Mac sighed."What else you got?"

"We processed your apartment and interviewed your neighbors. Some guy on the first floor remembered seeing a black van when he got home at around one a.m., but he couldn't remember a plate number. There are no foreign prints, hairs, or fibers in your apartment. Your lock was picked, and we did find a boot print on your doormat and a fishing lure on your table."

"Fishing lure? I don't fish."

"Okay, then in that case, we found something out of place at your apartment."

"A fishing lure?"

"Yes, but here's the weird thing: it had your name carved into it."

"My name?" Mac asked, confused.

"Yes. An inscription, too, actually."

"What did it say? Let me see it," Mac demanded. Adam jerked his head in the direction of the Trace Lab.

"Lindsay's with it."

"Thanks, Adam," he said.

"Hey, no problem."

He parted ways with Adam and headed purposefully towards Lindsay. She looked up when he came in.

"Mac? Aren't you supposed to—?"

"Not with Stella gone, Lindsay. What have you got?" Mac said expectantly.

"A trout lure with a story," Lindsay said. Mac sensed a reconstruction.

"Oh, go on, but only because Stella would want you to," Mac said with a sigh.

"When I was a little girl, my dad would take me fishing. He taught me that there are three basic types of lures: surface lures, swimmers, and metals. Surface lures, he explained to me, are designed to look like a wounded baitfish. You have to keep popping them in and out of the water to look like a little fish that's about to die, make it look like easy pickings so the big predators would come out and bite down on the lure. He cast one in the water, and sure enough, after a while all the big fish came out of the bottom and started fighting over this one little lure. It was amazing."

"So the lure I have is a surface lure?" Mac asked.

"Yup," Lindsay said proudly. "Designed to draw out the predators." She pulled out a plastic bag containing a fishing lure. She held it up to the light.

"See?" she asked. Mac saw. He saw the lettering etched into the side.

"What does it say on the side?" he asked. Lindsay grimaced.

"Mac The Fisherman," she said, frowning slightly. "I didn't know you fished."

"I don't," Mac admitted. Lindsay shot him a look.

"You don't?"

"The last time I went fishing, Nixon was president," Mac said shortly. "Did you find any Trace on that lure?"

Lindsay grinned. "I was waiting for you to ask that. When I was nine, I was fishing with a friend in the river on my parent's property. I was trying to impress him, so I cast out—" she mimed casting out "—and the hook landed right in the middle of his back. He had to go to the hospital, and he never went fishing with me again. He still has the scar."

Mac stood up a little straighter. "You didn't."

She grinned again, even wider. "I did. Skin, blood, and epithelials from _two _people."

"Two people?" Mac asked.

"Well, yeah," Lindsay said as though it would be obvious. "You can't always get the hook out by yourself."

Mac smiled. "Do you have DNA yet?"

"It's running as we speak," Lindsay said.

"Good work, Lindsay," Mac said. "Call me when you have something."

"Wait, don't leave yet," Lindsay said. "Danny's not here. Lucy got sick, and he's staying home with her."

Mac nodded. "Okay. Is there a problem with that?"

"Well," she hesitated. "The DNA's not gonna come back for awhile, and it's really my turn to stay home with her. I'm sort of worried about her. Can I go home and send Danny back here?"

Mac nodded. "Go take care of your daughter, Lindsay. It's okay."

"Thanks, Mac," Lindsay said.

"Don't worry about it." He looked at his watch. "It's 2 a.m. now. I want Danny in here by three, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll tell him," Lindsay said.

"Good," Mac said shortly, and he walked out of the Trace lab and nearly ran into Adam.

"Adam, I need you to—"

"It can wait," Adam said. "I have something for you."

"What?" Mac asked, his heart leaping so painfully he forgot to be surprised at Adam's abruptness.

"So I was looking at the footprint from your doormat, and I found some Trace. It was all sticky; I don't know how the guys in the field missed it—"

"Cut to the chase, Adam," Mac ordered. Adam shook his head.

"Right, right, Sorry. Anyway, I ran it, and it came back as pyloric caecum tissue from _Acipenser oxyrhynchus oxyrhynchus_, or the Atlantic Sturgeon."

"So in other words, fish guts," Mac said.

"Endangered fish guts," Adam corrected him. "The Atlantic Sturgeon's critically endangered. Just hunting it can get your fishing license revoked, and you can be charged with a felony if they catch you."

"That's good, Adam. Now I need you to run my description of the perps through NYSPIN and our felony record database."

"I did that already. That was the second thing I had to tell you. No matches yet."

"Let me know when you get a hit," Mac said. "Get back to work."

Adam nodded and backed away, looking down.

"Hey, the mail guy left this on my desk by mistake," Hawkes said, walking up to him as Adam walked away." He handed Mac a pale blue envelope. Mac took it and looked at it. The address of the crime lab was the only thing written on the outside. At first glance, it was fairly nondescript. It was postmarked from Louisiana, and had no return address. However, when Mac looked at the address, he noticed something that gave him pause: Stella's name. It was addressed to her. Mac blinked, then slowly turned and went back to his office, pulling out a pair of gloves. A small part of him told him that he was being over-cautious; however, the rest of him wasn't taking any chances. After the gloves were on, he opened the letter. He scanned it quickly; then, frowning, he read it again.

_My Dear Stella_, it read.

_If you are reading this, then I am dead. I know you don't want to listen to my story, but I hope you understand. You see, when we met, I was already dying. My master had found me, and trained me, and had ensured me that if I obeyed him, I would live. However, working as a criminalist as long as I have, I knew that I was going to die one day at his hands or at the hands of someone else on his orders. He had been training me for about a month before I met you. Immediately, I knew: you were one of them. You were exactly his type. When I found you, I tried to hide you as long as I could, but when he found out about you, he ordered me to bring you to him._

_My master is dangerous, Stella. He wants to kill you. I knew that, and while I had no problem with you personally, he had ordered me, so I began seducing you. I was so pleased that you told me you were involved with someone in New York, because by that time, I had come to get to know you, and I liked and respected you. You can imagine my secret horror when we began to get involved. It was my fault, Stella. You captivated me with your beauty and your intelligence, and the way you came so quickly to command the lab and worked so hard to earn respect of all your colleagues. In the end, I was too weak to resist you. I had fallen in love with you, Stella. My seduction had ended, and I wanted to be with you._

_However, Master made it clear that I was supposed to seduce you, just like the others, and then bring you to him so he could kill you. But I was in love with you. I couldn't let him kill you. So I had no other choice. I broke your heart, and for that, I am terribly sorry. _

_I know my death is not a shock to you; knowing you, it will take months before you read this, and by that time, you will probably have learned that I am dead. I have instructed someone to send you this letter every other week until you do. They'll know when you open it. But Stella, please know that he will kill you. He will, if he gets the chance. I will hold him off for as long as I can. I am running to New York in the hopes that he will follow me there and find more suitable prey, and leave you alone. Please know, Stella, that I love you with all of my heart, and I am so, so sorry that I had to hurt you in order to save you._

_All of my love, and always yours,_

_Patrick._

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Well, there it is. I tried to make it shorter, but... that sort of didn't happen. Just tell me what you think about it. If it was meh, tell me and give suggestions, if you have them. And if you do like it... tell me. I'm going to be straight with y'all, I could use a little positive feedback right now.


	17. Chapter 17

Hello, and Merry Christmas! (Happy Hanukkah to my Jewish readers, Kwanzaa to my... Kwanzaa-celebrating readers (trying not to insult anyone) and Happy Holidays and New Years to all my athiests and everyone else whose holidays I don't know about.) I I'd get one last update in for 2011, so here it is!

This chapter has been beta'ed by three different people: **Jade_Nolan**, **Ballettmaus**, and **lilly moonlight**, so a big thanks to each of them: I couldn't have done it to this degree without you guys!

This chapter will, unfortunately, be the last for awhile. I have some major issues with the next chapter running away to join the circus and refusing to cooperate with the local authorities, so while I fight it out in court for its release into my care, you all will just have to be patient.

Well, just thought you all might want to know, I have a good deal of stories waiting to be finished and posted, so when we talk again, it will probably be with those guys.

Ciao till then,

Brii

* * *

><p>Mac swallowed hard. He took a step backwards and sank slowly into his chair, looking at the letter in his hands. He reread the letter again, forcing himself to look at it analytically. The effort made his head pound again. He needed to keep his head clear, even in the aftermath of Stella's kidnapping. The pounding in his head increased, and he shook his head. Maybe he should have taken the ER doctors up on that night of observation.<p>

_Now is not the time for weakness_, he growled to himself. _Stella doesn't need you to be weak right now. She needs you. You have to focus._

Just then, Adam opened the door to his office. Mac waved him in.

"Mac, you need to hear this," Adam said. "I got something, and while it may not be big, it's—it's something. And it might help."

"What?" Mac asked warily. Adam held up a remote.

"In the A/V Lab," he said, turning on his heel and walking out of the office. He got to his feet and followed the young lab tech to the audiovisual analysis lab.

"So when we processed your apartment, we took Stella's phone. I was processing it, and I found a worm," Adam said seriously.

"A worm?" Mac asked.

"Yeah. It's a malware program that uses a network to send copies of itself to other nodes, a computer, or in this case, a cell phone, on the network. Once it's on there, it'll do anything from taking up bandwitdth to providing a sort of backdoor into your cell phone for spam and other things to get in, okay, but this worm in particular wasn't just your ordinary everyday spam worm. This worm's payload—"

"It's what?"

"Oh, uh, payload. That's the, uh, the part of the code designed to do more than just pass itself on. It might, uh, delete files, or download email addresses from your contacts, download a picture of the O RLY? owl—"

"The what?" Mac asked.

"Uh, it's a macro image, of an owl with its head to the side, and it's face like—" Adam tilted his head to the side, making what looked like a slightly obscene face for a second, caught the look on Mac's face, and quickly straightened "—ah, never mind. The worm would download it to your printer queue and print it over and over and over and—"

"Adam!" Mac said testily. Adam flushed.

"Sorry, boss. Anyway, this worm's payload was designed to hack into a smart phone's GPS and send the coordinates back to the writer's computer. So all he had to do was get on a secure network for about a few minutes, long enough to put a worm on her phone, and then all they had to do was just sit back and wait."

"Okay," Mac said. "How can we use that?"

"I can try to reverse the worm and try to get a location on her attacker. It might take some time, though, and it might not—I mean, just because we find the computer doesn't exactly guarantee…" he trailed off at the withering look Mac gave him and quickly changed tact. "I mean, I-I-I'll find her." And at that, he left the room, his face red.

Mac continued to glower long after Adam left. This guy, this serial killer, was becoming more and more complex the longer they chased him. What was it about him? What did he want, why was he killing?

On a sudden, vague inspiration, he decided to look into Stella's past cases, both here and in New Orleans. A few keystrokes and he had done it. Stella's cases from her time at the NYPD were in front of him. He began to click through them manually, looking at each face, scrutinizing it: was this the man that had taken Stella? Was this whole mess somehow related to one of her cases?

Several hours and no hits later, Mac was beginning to get frustrated. He had looked through every open and closed case, right up until Stella had left for New Orleans. He had called her lab, explained the situation to her boss, and while her boss had not been happy, he had agreed to send—and had sent—her files to him. He had looked through those, too, but other than Dawson Jones, none of the faces looked even remotely familiar.

"Mac," Flack said by way of greeting, strolling into his office unannounced. Mac looked up from a file, irritated.

"What?"

"What are you doing?" Flack asked. Mac looked back at the file on his computer.

"Going through Stella's old cases."

"You didn't find anything, did you?" Flack asked. Mac shook his head.

"Yeah, I looked while you were getting your scan. I couldn't call New Orleans, though. Did you find a guy there?"

Mac exhaled noisily. "No," he admitted, glowering at the computer screen as if he expected it to help.

"Well, I got something that may make the next forty-five minutes," Flack said with an unusually cheeky grin.

"Why only the next forty-five minutes?" Mac asked wearily. Flack faltered.

"Because that's all you have left in the day, Mac," he said. "It's 11:15, Mac."

Mac looked down at his watch. Had the day really gone by so quickly?

"Well," Mac said lightly, smoothly concealing his surprise and slight trepidation—was this a result of hard work or a concussion symptom? He couldn't tell— "What do you got?"

"A house," Flack said with a grin. Adam chose that moment to walk in, and apparently had heard Flack, because he entered the room talking.

"Not technically, it's a condo, and it's been abandoned for years, but yes, that's where the computer is," he agreed with Flack. "I just got a hit off the worm."

"Good," Mac told both of them. "Where does this put us?"

"I can get a warrant soon, but we have to wait for FBI before we move," Flack said. "They're coming in from DC, the best team they have, it'll be a few hours. I got the call a few minutes ago, We'll be working with a Special Agent Anthony… Wilkins… What?" he asked, for Mac had stared, dumbstruck, at Flack.

"Why did no one tell me?" he demanded. "Why didn't anyone tell me FBI was coming in?"

"S.O.P., Mac," Flack said slowly. "And if I got the call, you must have, too. Check your phone."

Mac pulled open the desk drawer he had thrown his phone into—he didn't want to be distracted—and checked. Indeed, he had three missed calls, one of them from an unknown DC number. The other two were from Flack.

"Son of a bitch," Mac said quietly, emphasizing each word. "When will they be here?"

"Soon, that's why I called. They just landed and they're coming to the lab in a half an hour. They want to interview you, and—"

"We're taking point," Mac said.

"We can't, Mac," Flack said.

"Yes we can," Mac said defiantly. "She's gone because of me, and if the FBI thinks they can take getting her back away from me, they can just forget it."

"It's not going to work like—"

"It will," Mac said irritably. "I don't care what bureaucratic red tape I have to go around—"

"Oh, come on, Mac," Flack said firmly. "I don't like this any more than you do, but we have to follow protocol. Now stop talking like this. Take a breath, will ya? We can't help this, and you have to admit they'll help, right? They know what they're doing."

Mac just glared. Flack lost his patience.

"Oh, for the love of—stop glaring at me like that!" he exploded. "It's not my fault she's gone, it's not my fault it took so long to find this guy, it's not my fault you were powerless to stop him, and it's not my fault she ever left in the first place. Now, I don't know what's going on between you and her, but if she hadn't figured it out yet and you didn't tell her, well, that's not my fault, either. It's yours."

Mac looked down at the floor, the fight visibly leaving him. He sighed and turned away, covering his eyes with his hand.

"I know," he said wearily. He slowly made his way to his desk and sat down heavily, the weight of the world on his shoulders. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Mac, I'm sorry," Flack said. "That was out of line."

"No, you're right," Mac said. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "You're right." The admission made him look suddenly years older, and he rubbed his face dejectedly. "I should have told her. I had a chance to, but I didn't, and now, I might not get a chance."

"Mac, don't talk like that," Flack said gravely. "We'll find her. We'll find her, in just a few hours."

Mac shook his head, a defeated, disgusted look on his face that hinted at what his next words were: "Yeah, but will we find her in time to save her?"

Flack found that he had no answer, but he looked at Mac soberly.

"Don't blame yourself, Mac," he said quietly.

Mac didn't answer, just waved him away. Flack knew Mac well enough not to take it personally, and quietly left, shutting the door of the office behind him.


End file.
